


Isolated System: Audrey's Tumblr Ficlet Dumping Ground

by t0bemadeofglass



Category: Marvel (Movies), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bodyswap, Car Sex, Clintasha Ch. 8, College!AU, Consensual Underage Sex, Domestic!AU, Drabble, F/M, Fae!Loki, Fake Marriage, Feels, Fem!Steve, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gamora/Maria Hill Ch. 39, Gamora/Natasha Romanov Ch. 39, Handcuffed Together, Implied Phlint Ch. 8, Individual warnings per chapter, Inspired by Art, Jotun!Loki, M/M, Nemora Ch. 36, Pacific Rim AU, Prompt Fill, Reylo Ch. 51-62, Romanrogers Ch. 20, Secretly a Virgin, Sifki Ch. 30, Snowed In, Stasha Ch. 14, Stasha Ch. 39, Stony Ch. 17, Stucky Ch. 26, Thortasha Ch. 18, Truth or Dare, Underage Ch. 38, Underage Sex, WinterWidow Ch. 25, alternative universe, band!au, big ol collection of ficlets and drabbles, more tags to come, vampire!AU, virgin!Loki Ch. 38
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 63
Words: 53,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of the prompts I've received or thought of while on Tumblr.  Some are inspired by something else, some come from other tumblr users, some are AUs--basically just a whole lot of writing and drabbles =] Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter In My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> All of these can also be found at my tumblr: http://futurerustfuture-dust.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art that this was inspired by can be found here: http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=31156767

Natasha has been told not to look in his eyes.  It’s been drilled into her head so often she’d have thought herself smarter than that, but alone, without a teacher to rebuke her for not paying attention?  And how can she be expected to turn away after she’s taken in the heavy fur coat covering his shoulders, the crisp, almost painful white hue of his tunic, the crown of gold atop his head and the bright, red apple in his hands?  His eyes are just as beautiful as the rest of him, she realizes, as she looks up out of habit from the apple to his face, watches his brow soften as he steps half an inch closer, bringing those bright green eyes further toward her.  She loses her breath on its way out of her mouth, lumping instead in her throat so that her head clouds for the briefest of moments.  She feels dizzy, light headed, and his hand stretches out to her, somehow giving her the signal that it’s okay.  She’s safe, and she can exhale again.  Lights dance behind her eyes as she watches his lips curl upwards, their lines thin and light pink, nearly as pale as the rest of him.  

“Do you want it?” He asks, voice so soft she swears she’s imagined it, words lilted as though the fate of the world rests in her hands, in her decision.  It might for all she knows but she can’t bring herself to look away from him for very long, can’t make herself disconnect.  Of its own accord her hand stretches out, lips parting to acquiesce and deny at the same time, mind unable to connect words with actions as her body takes control of itself.  The apple is heavy in her hands, heavier than it should be, and warm to the touch.  Warm as a body.  Fingers wrap around her own; thin and fingertips painted black she recognizes as she manages to look down quickly enough before returning her gaze to his face.  

“Eat it,” he whispers, words a promise of something better to come.  In the back of her mind she can hear the voice of her teachers, her mentors, those from the room she ran away from whispering to her never to accept food from anything, or anyone else.  

Especially not the fae.  

And how can he be anything but that?  Still she feels, rather than intends, as her hand brings the apple closer to her, presses it to her own bright red lips, and bites.  It’s warm in her mouth, sweet, decadent, and fills her head with the sweetest of perfumes she’s ever smelled.  A soft groan leaves her full mouth as the juice of the apple runs down her fingers, red as the locks that frame her face.  She gets a second’s glance at that as well before she’s looking back up.

This time her brow furrows, the last morsels of the apple sticking in her throat.  She coughs, choking on air, on nothing, as the apple falls from her hand and hits the ground.  If she thought air was hard to come by before it’s nothing in comparison to the struggle to even think of oxygen then, and she grasps at her throat as he grows nearer.  Still she is unable to pull away from his gaze, eyes only closing as the world starts to spin around her.  The fur of his coat is warm and encompasses her suddenly cold body, and she slits her eyes to stare up at him once more, her focus this time falling on his lips as they murmur to her: “You’re mine now my darling, mine own heart.  All mine, my queen.”  All goes black as her heart stops and her body goes cold as his.  

 


	2. What Real Power Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pacific Rim!AU  
> Don't judge me because of the names; they're terrible, I know. It might eventually grow into a longer fic--I want it to grow into a longer fic, but depending on time and how busy I get it remains to be seen.

He looked over at Natasha standing opposite him, though her eyes were elsewhere, fixated on the mechanism in front of them, glazed over as she remembered something from her past.  From before Loki.  He had a vague idea what it was; Alexei was always on the absolute outskirts of the Drift, and once or twice he thought he felt her mind inch towards chasing after him, trying to hold him like water through outstretched fingers even as he slipped from her mind and the mission took over.  He supposed it was difficult, nearly impossible, to forget the first person that one drifted with.  His own memories were filled with his brother, even though Thor had moved on and found another partner, and the tinge of guilt and betrayal always followed right after.  

But now?  Now Natasha was the only thing on his mind.  The smell of her, the strong pulse he felt flutter beneath his fingertips and in his veins as they drifted together, the way her mind moved from action to action, seamless as a dream and as intoxicating as the vodka she had brought him after their last successful mission.  The feel of her skin brushing against his as they fought, testing out one anothers abilities after Thor had left him and Alexei had passed onto retirement, unable to fight anymore.  The heat of her breath against his skin as she pulled away from kissing him after the third fight--a nearly unsuccessful match up against a vicious Kaiju known as Magmara (the damn thing had been able to spit some sort of lava that had nearly burned through the hull and the left arm.)  

He felt his own breath leave him in a soft rush, watched her eyes pull away from the past and look into his, into the future that he tried to promise her.  All they had to do was get past this mission, get Scarlet Thunder and Iron Shield to the detonation point.  

“Are you ready for this?” She asked as she slowly placed her boots into position, heard the click of the locking mechanism that would keep her in place.  Loki followed suit, closing his helmet.  

“Ready as I’ll ever be.  You think she’s got one more trip left in her?” He asked, patting the mechanism that connected to the rest of his body behind him, the movement loving, affectionate.  He’d never have met Natasha if it wasn’t for the Spider, so named because she was the fastest and had a habit of using cables as a weapon to strangle, tie up, or slice through any kaiju that attempted to stand in their way.  Going fast enough it usually did the trick; if not they had a plethora of other weapons.  The Russians had only been too happy to supply one of their own with all the toys possible.  

Loki was so caught up in his thoughts he missed Natasha’s words, looking back at her with a confused look.  “Sorry?”

“I said no.”  

He swallowed hard.  

“We’ve got to come back from this, don’t we?  I’d say she’s got at least two trips left.”  The smile on Natasha’s face nearly stopped his heart.  “You’ve still got to teach me how to throw daggers as well as you do.”

Even if he didn’t meld with her brain two seconds later, the computer initializing the Drift between them without warning, he’d have known there was more to it than simply that by the deep curve of her lips, the quick, comforting sweep of her eyelashes as she looked from his eyes down to her hand.  Without a word he took it in his own, squeezing her gloved appendage with his own.  They could do this.  


	3. If You Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, my take on what I would like to happen if the worst comes to the worst in Thor 2. Note: MAIN CHARACTER DEATH, though it's not confirmed to happen in Thor 2 (and pleasepleaseplease don't let it happen) I don't want to get yelled at that I spoiled something. This is a fic that follows a theory/prediction. Don't read if you don't like the possibilities of something getting spoiled.

There’s a presence is Natasha’s room when she makes it in there, her hand flickering just over the light switch, unsure she’ll like what she finds when she finally flips it up.  Taking a deep breath, she barely blinks against the bright light when she sees Loki sitting on her bed.  He’s not looking at her, not like normal when he’s sitting there with a cocky smirk and a quip or two about what she’d done that day, or how long it’d taken her to finally get back.  No, there’s silence, and it makes Natasha the more worried for it.

“Is this going to be a regular thing with you?” She asks finally, breaking out of her momentarily stunned silence to move to the desk beside her bed, taking off her earrings, bracelets, the knives she kept concealed on the sides of her new suit.  “Because I’d really love a little bit of a heads up when you plan on coming over for a little chat.”

Nothing meets her statement, not a laugh, or a sigh about her desires for him to communicate better with her.  They’ve had that conversation in the past, and Nat was sure that that would’ve at least gotten a rise out of him.  He says nothing, eyes still fixed to a point on the ground. When she looks closer she sees that his hands are trembling despite his best efforts to keep them grounded and still on his knees.  She grows quiet and pensive at that, only moving over to sit beside him once she’s finished putting her things away.  “Loki?”

“I’m sorry.”

If that’s not an indication that something is wrong, she doesn’t know what is.  Her eyes widen and very slowly she moves one of her hands to his shoulder.  His hand reaches up quickly to clasp hers, squeezing it tightly as he looks up at her.  “I should have given you more warning, I ought to do it in the future but . . . I have no one else, Natasha.  No one but you.”

Her brow draws together in confusion, blue eyes searching his green ones.  “Surely Thor isn’t--.”

“Thor has others.  He has Odin, and Asgard, Midgard, Sif.  He doesn’t need me.”

“Then your mother.”

There’s a sadness that wells up in his eyes that takes her breath away.  He looks away, thinking he can hide it from her, disguise the shaking in his hands that gets worse.  Natasha only feels regret for bringing it up.  She pulls herself up onto the bed and brings him with her, laying him down so she can lay behind him and wrap her arms around him.  He’s still at first, stiff and refusing to budge, as though he doesn’t want to admit that he needs this.  And he does need it.  She can tell.  So she keeps him close all the while, murmuring how sorry she is in his ear, kissing the soft spot behind it and molding her front to his back.  

It doesn’t take long for him to break down in her arms, and she holds him through the night, whispering soft words into his ear, reassuring when he begs her never to let him go that she won’t leave him.  How could she when everyone else had?  

 


	4. Talking 'Bout The Way Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic requested to be inspired by this picture: http://hiddlescribbles.deviantart.com/art/Love-Interruption-lines-only-315741144   
> Hope you like it!

The doors to the theater closed quietly behind them, Natasha’s lips still quirked in the smallest of smiles.  The play had been excellent, she had to admit, and based on how Loki’s body was thrumming with excitement of his own he’d enjoyed it as well.  

“So, you like Shakespeare, do you?”

“I like nearly any story in which everyone ends up dead,” he teased her with a quiet chuckle.  “Especially ones based around revenge.”

“To be fair, I would’ve been alright if Macbeth didn’t end up dead.”  

That made Loki laugh aloud, his head tipping back as they turned to the right to continue strolling back towards where they’d parked Natasha’s car.  The streets were near empty, many of the other patrons having chosen to park closer to the theater, while this pair had walked from the Italian restaurant only a few blocks away.  No point paying for parking and dealing with the mess of traffic afterwards.  

“You would like him.  Was it the character or the actor?” Loki asked, his hand squeezing hers, having taken her hand since they’d stood up from the theater, always paranoid that she’d twist her ankle in the five-inch stilettos that she insisted on wearing.  As if she’d wear anything else in the slinky black number he’d asked her to wear that evening.  

“The motivation behind it.  He did what a good husband was supposed to and listened to his wife,” she teased, leaning over to press her lips to his cheek.  As she did a chill ran up her spine, setting the pair of them on edge: Natasha as she caught the quickest sight of two people following them, Loki as he read her immediate change in body language.  

His grip on her hand tightened for half a second before he forced himself to relax once more.  When Natasha pulled away Loki moved his hand to wrap it around her waist, pulling her tight to him so he could bury his mouth into her hair.  

“What’s wrong?”

“Two people are following us.  Have been since we left the theater, I think.”  Her voice was quiet enough that it wouldn’t carry, only Loki was privy to the information, and this time his fingers dug into her side tightly, preparing himself.  She didn’t say anything else about the matter, the pair taking their time walking back.  There weren’t nearly enough people on the lamp-lit streets, time ticking well past midnight, but as they neared the parking lot the footsteps behind them multiplied and grew faster.  Now it was Natasha’s turn to straighten her back, slow her breathing, and squeeze Loki’s hand from where he was holding it.  Ahead of them she could see a few others coming towards them, faces she recognized.  Old Red Room operatives she’d trained with, ones she’d blown off to go with Clint all those years ago.  She swallowed hard, seeing murder and pain written in the faces of all of them, not knowing that they’d been around for this long.  Whatever Ivan had done to them it wasn’t death as she’d assumed, but she was sure they’d rather have rather than whatever else his twisted mind could create.  

“Spin me around, love,” she murmured, feeling him tense as he recognized the codeword, one she’d practiced time and time again with Clint but perfected with Loki.  His hand still on her waist, he took half a second to twist her to face the opposite direction, and his hand met her left one as the black dress she’d been wearing shifted swiftly in a shimmer of golden light to her sleek black cat suit.  By the time it took her to grasp her guns--and bless Loki for having remembered to include them--the other men that had been behind them had broken out into a run, their own guns drawn.  She felt the fool for not having recognized them, but with Loki’s hand tightening on her own she was sure he was preparing for a fight the same way she was.  Sure enough a blast of cold air hit her back as she aimed and shot at whichever other opponents she could get to.  Their bullets seemed to bounce off of Loki and herself, and when she went to release his hand in order to reload her gun Loki shook his head, breaking away from watching the stream of ice envelop the men who’d thought they could corner the pair.  

“The spell will break if you do.”  

Nat shrugged, dropped the gun and reached for another.  Alright, at least she was prepared.  Between the two of them, Loki’s magic and Natasha’s excellent aim, the other agents didn’t stand a chance, and only when every last body had dropped, either from being frozen to death or shot, did the pair relax.  Loki even had a grin on his face as he reached over and tipped Nat’s chin up.  His hand was still chilly, spreading chills up her body, and it made her smile when she leaned up to kiss him hard.  That was one way to end the night on a high note.  

 


	5. Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by IDamnLoveOrange on Tumblr, all three parts are consolidated here.

“Loki, I meant it when I said no one can recognize me,” Natasha murmured as they neared the door to the hotel and she caught sight of the car he’d rented.  Expensive and gaudy didn’t seem to cover it; Tony was a terrible influence.  “I’m a spy, I can’t exactly be seen all the time and identified.  My cover could be blown.”  

“Oh you’ll be fine,” he promised, leaning over to kiss her temple, smiling into her newly dyed black hair.  They very nearly could have been identical  if not for her tanned skin courtesy of the past week they’d spent on the beach.  He’d managed to convince her to get away, and even if it had resulted in her finding another mission to go on at least they’d had a small amount of time together.  A small amount of time she’d been less than excited about, but still he’d take the victories where he could get them.  He sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  She never stopped working.  Even now, as he led her out of the hotel, she was checking her phone to make sure that Fury hadn’t called her again with something else to do.  Did he bore her?  

Well, that was going to end.  

The minute they stepped out of the building there was a flash of light and Natasha tensed immediately under Loki’s grip, a tightened coil ready to be loosed unto the world.  She tipped her eyes downwards and shrugged out of Loki’s hold, holding out her hand to hold it over her eyes, not realizing that while she looked down Tony, Barton, and Bruce were the ones behind the cameras.  They were doing it at Loki’s request, who’d been curious about how she would react.  She hated cameras, understandably so, but he thought it was a major Midgardian tradition for a couple to at least have a few of them lying about.  Hiding behind the large Canon was Tony, grinning and snapping away, the flash nearly blinding as Loki took Nat’s free hand and helped her into the town car.  She pulled away from him with a growl and slammed the door in his face.  He shot the other men he’d roped into helping him a confused look before climbing into the drivers seat and zipping off.  It was a mild irritant, he could understand, but Stark dealt with similar publicity everywhere he went and somehow remained composed.  How was it that Natasha, ice queen and his most difficult conquest, could not?  

Natasha was silent the whole drive, her lips pursed and her gaze cutting as she glowered over at him every once in a great while, as though she couldn’t bare to even think about looking at him.  He didn’t see what was the big deal, but again he knew that it was her friends, rather than the actual press.  Perhaps it would’ve been easier to simply breach the topic with her earlier, of taking pictures together where they both looked as though they wanted to be there, but he could never resist the urge to cause a little mischief.  Besides, he couldn’t wait to see Nat’s reaction to Tony explaining how they’d listened to Loki’s request over knowing Natasha’s own preferences.  Her face would be priceless, her telling off of Stark even more so.  

But he hadn’t anticipated on her not saying a word to him through the whole dinner.  He’d have thought she’d calm down as they were led to the discrete, outside patio to have dinner, the lights around them dim but just enough to catch the way her muscles tensed in the beautiful deep blue dress she wore, how her eyes kept looking up at him to glare, how her lips pursed and her leg tapped.  He didn’t have time, in between dissecting what the hell her problem was and trying to get her to bother opening up and acting as though it was a real date, to call off the others, so that when they were eventually “rediscovered,” the flashing of the cameras coming from across the street and eventually beside them, she stormed off, her chair falling to the ground behind her with a loud clang.  It set Loki’s teeth on edge and he held out a hand for the others to stop.  

“What’s wrong?” Stark asked, looking over at where Nat had disappeared into the restaurant.  

“She’s not too happy with my idea to take pictures.”  Loki’s mouth set into a hard line.  Was she ashamed of him?  There was so much more that she could’ve done if she really didn’t want the pictures leaking out, such as taking them all and destroying them one by one.  So why was it she was so keen on just putting distance between them rather than effectively destroying the evidence?  

“Wait--you didn’t tell her?” Barton asked, and between the half a second it took for Loki to shake his head the man’s face paled.  “You’re an ass.”

“And you jumped on the idea.  Sue me,” he said, throwing the familiar colloquialism at the archer, whose eyes narrowed for a moment before he stalked away, likely gathering an argument against Loki as to why Clint was not the one at fault.  Tony just rolled his eyes.  

“Wow. Drama drama drama between you two, all the time.” He said.  Loki simply shrugged his shoulders and moved back inside to try and track Natasha down.  Bruce just slunk away, not wanting to get in the middle of it, but Tony seemed to be fighting with himself whether or not he wanted to stick around to watch the mess that Loki created.  

He found Natasha seething near the bathrooms, breathing deeply and glowering at him when he neared.  “Are you ready to go?” She asked through clenched teeth, arms crossed tightly over her chest, every line on her body rigid.  Her anger radiated off of her, more powerful and intoxicating than the strongest of wines, and forced him to keep a step or two away from her to stop from angering her further.  

“Yes, of course.  I’ve already paid the bill.”  A lie, but with the snap of his fingers it turned into a truth, the money and generous tip already on the table waiting.  “I’ll bring the car around shall I?”

“Do that.”  

She wouldn’t talk about it here, he knew that, and true to his beliefs she kept deadly silent throughout the car ride, ignoring Loki’s few questions about the meal, what she wanted to do when they got back.  It was the first time they’d managed to go out on a date, one without her been on or having to leave for a mission, and she let it be ruined simply by a couple of pictures.  

“Natasha--I want you to know that it was all concocted by me.  Those men taking the pictures?  It was simply Bruce, Clint, and Tony.  I was exasperated by your lack of--.”

Her glare was enough to cut him off, sharp as the knives he knew had been sewn into the seams of her dress. Just in case.  He’d be lucky if they didn’t get used on him that evening, according to the way she was glaring at him.  

“You did, what?”  She didn’t ask this until they’d finally made it back inside, having ridden up the elevator to her room in complete silence.  “Excuse me?  After you knew I hated--.”

“Natasha you’re ashamed of me,” he said it quickly.  “I couldn’t give a damn if it was anyone but you.  I’m accustomed to those nearest being ashamed of me: Odin, Thor.  But not you.”  He swallowed hard, eyes searching her hard ones.  “I wanted to see what you would do if confronted with the idea of publicly coming out with me.  With pictures being taken of you and I, which there aren’t any.  Thank you for showing me how you prefer it.”

“Loki I’m a spy.  A spy.  I deal with secrecy and deception and I’m not supposed to be recognized!  I don’t care who I’m with as long as I’m not seen because the minute it is my cover is blown!  I could die, Loki!  You think I’ll be proud of you when I’m dead?” She snarled, nearly spitting in her anger.  One of her hands struck his chest, hard, though he barely felt it.  Her words were knife enough to injure him.  He hadnt considered it, true, thinking of himself first. He was apt to do that, often too caught up in his schemes to consider what else could be happening. Natasha was walking away from him, having spat for him to go to hell, and he reached out quickly to grab her. "Natasha. I'm sorry."

"Too bad." She growled, ripping her arm from him.

"No, I mean it." He insisted, chasing after her. Why couldn't she read the sincerity in his voice? He twisted her around to face him, hardly wincing as her hand struck the side of his face, or at the stiletto of her shoe as it was dug into his foot. He'd worry about it later; he couldn't lose her. "Believe me. Let me make it up to you--I wasn't thinking."

"That's your problem, not mine." She said, eyes sharp and defiant as they stared at him, unwilling to broker any sort of compromise. The door slamming behind her echoed that sentiment. He felt his heart go out with the noise of it, fingers stretching out to touch the hard wooden door but stopping just centimeters from it.

"No," he whispered. He took a moment, a breath, then composed and pulled his arm back in. Another breath as he straightened his back and twisted on his heel to turn. He'd make it up to her one way or the other, and she'd see how he cared. 

* * *

 

“How long are you going to stay mad at him?” Clint asked, ducking a kick in the face and dropping down to try and swipe her legs out from under her.  When he correctly assumed she’d jump over his legs he managed to roll away just in time and kick behind her knees.  She went down but rolled with the motion, absorbing the blow in favor of getting right back up.  This time he didn’t dodge the kick to the face n time, or the one to the chest, but on the second she didn’t manage to move her foot away quick enough.  He grabbed her ankle and flipped her, and though she caught his chin with her toe he didn’t let it phase him.  They carried on in a similar fashion until their bodies ached and sweat poured, stinging their eyes and making their grips and skin slick, until Clint had her pinned with a knee on her chest, his forearm pressed hard against her throat.  Her eyes were wide and nearly as disbelieving as his.  He’d never been able to beat her in hand to hand before.  Ever.  

“Someone’s distracted,” he murmured, offering her a hand to help her stand.  

“Shut up,” she growled, refusing the hand as she stood by herself, running an arm over her brow to mop up the sweat.  She hated him for being right, and herself even more for not doing anything about it.  Barton was the only one who’d actually call her on her shit, and though it made him invaluable as a partner, even more as a friend, she simply didn’t want to hear it tonight.  Running one hand through her sweaty hair she used the other to flick open the lid of her water bottle, ignoring Barton’s questioning look by rehydrating.  She’d been out of sorts since Loki--she felt her blood boil at the simple thought of him--had gone all sentimental on her.  The idiot.  More than that, though, she was a fool.  She’d known it was a bad idea when she’d first said yes to him.  It became hard to breathe for a moment and she choked on her water, pulling the bottle away as she started to cough.  Clint patted her on the back, trying not to look as worried for her as he was.  She was coming apart at the seams and in their line of work?  It could be deadly.  Not that he had to remind her of that.

“Are you just going to ignore me when I ask you questions?”  He sounded more amused than anything else, though Natasha’s withering stare quickly shut him up.  

“Since when did you become so chatty?” She asked once she was breathing normally once more, stepping towards where she’d deposited her jacket from the run earlier that morning.  She’d needed to clear her head, and the brisk autumn air had helped, even if it was just a little bit.  It was all she could’ve asked for, and though her legs were trembling again she couldn’t deny that another quick run sounded appealing.  Anything to distract her from the heavy lump still gathering in her stomach, or the ache burning in her chest.  

“Since you started hiding things from me.”

“We’re spies.  It shouldn’t surprise you,” she retorted quickly, turning swiftly to step outside, fingers already unraveling the headphones Stark had specially designed to stay in her ears no matter how hard she ran.  She’d given him a rare, genuine smile for that, one that she was sure he’d have taken over the glares she now shot his way every time he came around.  She still hadn’t forgiven him for listening to Loki in the first place and speaking of that . . . She took a quick last sip of her water bottle before turning and throwing it with deadly accuracy at Barton’s head, hitting  him upside the head.  As he shouted in pain and surprise she smirked.  

“Don’t ever listen to Loki again.”

 

The pavement was wet beneath the soles of her shoes, the storm having passed as she wound her way through the mostly empty city sidewalks, allowing for the soft slap of her every step to echo in her mind, taking the place of those who didn't deserve her attention. And he didn’t deserve her attention.  For as much time as he’d taken out of her life he’d been nothing but a diversion, a way to keep her entertained and on her toes in between missions.  That’s what she told herself all the while, and that was the story she was sticking with she decided, whipping a strand of hair out of her face as she picked up the pace.  She was going too fast, far too fast to be human, but she didn’t care.  She had to keep going, harder, faster, better than before, always on the run.  She was Natasha Romanov, once Ivan’s protege and best student, still top SHIELD agent.  Uncompromisable, unwavering, and certainly untouchable.  

So how was it that she’d let him in so far?  

 

There was a bouquet of flowers waiting for her in her room when Nat finally got back, tugging the earbuds from her ears.  They were soft, nearly perfect in both the depth of the red and the scent that they left behind as she picked them up and pressed them to her nose.  They also had Loki practically written all over them, and she sighed as she moved them to the trash can.  He couldn’t win her over that easily.  A knock on the door shouldn’t have taken her as off guard as it did but she jumped nonetheless and swallowed hard as she looked over at it.  

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Loki murmured from the other side.  “Why’d you throw my roses away?”

“Go away--and stop spying on me,” Nat snarled, any sort of affection she might’ve felt for him from the flowers chased away.  How dare he?  

“I wasn’t--I simply have a spell knowing what becomes of them.  I was hoping you’d see them as an apology for what I did.”

“Loki, go away.”

“Natasha, please just let me explain--.”

“Loki.  Go.  Away.”  He wasn’t winning himself any points, that was for certain, and though there was silence she was sure he hadn’t left yet.  He was waiting for her to step out and check, so he could trap her, bring her down with his silver-coated word and ensnare her once more.  Well she wasn’t falling for it, not this time.  Not again.  So she ignored the silence, pretended he’d never come up to try and talk to her, and moved into the bathroom instead, planning on showering quickly to coax the heat back into her bones that the cold of the rain and the unexpected present had chased away.  

 

He didn’t stop there, however, with the presents, offering her new ones each day.  Diamonds worth more than some of the small countries she’d been to, clothing made of the finest silk money could buy, new weapons that looked as though they’d been forged on another planet (these she’d given to Tony, hoping he’d be able to tell if there was anything wrong with them), even going so far as to get her a little black kitten with bright green eyes.  She’d been afraid it was him at first, but when she’d asked Thor about it he assured her, after inspecting the small creature, that it was nothing other than a harmless kitten.  That she’d kept, snuggling him in her room and trying not to let the sinking feeling in her stomach get in the way of loving the little ball of fur in her arms.  It purred and stretched out across her lap most nights, jolting awake only when there was another knock at the door.  

“So, you’re a cat person?”

“Loki, leave me alone.”

“Natasha, please.”  He sounded desperate, torn.  Broken, almost.  There was a soft undercurrent in his voice that she’d never heard before and for the briefest of moments her body twitched, preparing to stand up and go to the door.  It forced the cat from her body, not used to such sudden movement, and instead it curled up on one of her pillows, something soft and immovable.  Natasha watched it, trying to focus on the cat rather than the man begging her from just beyond the door.  He didn’t stop after that, pleading her to come and talk to him.  “Just let me apologize, and that’s all I’ll say.”

But she knew him all too well.  He’d get to talking, and she couldn’t handle it when he talked to her so much.  So she stayed locked away, barricaded by her stubbornness and his unwillingness to insult her further by barging into her room.  At least he’d somewhat learned his lesson.  

“Loki, I don’t want to see you again.  Go away,” she finally snarled when his whining got to be too much.  Silence followed her words, and she could all but feel his shock and pain seep through the cracks of her door.  

“Very well.”  His voice was quiet, and slow footsteps followed after until they disappeared down the hall.  That wasn’t normal, and the strangeness put her immediately on edge.  Debating for half a minute more, she stood and crossed over to the door, cracking it to look outside.  He was gone, and she couldn’t help but feel ridiculous.  Why was she so afraid of him, after all?  

Why was she so afraid of what he did to her?  

 

Loki didn’t turn up for the rest of the week.  There weren’t any more presents, or visits, or even any sight of him from then on.  Nat found Thor and confronted him about it at the end of the week, her hand finding his shoulder and stopping him so he’d look her in the face.  “What?  What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t know where Loki is,” he confessed.  “He broke his contract with Shield by disappearing, and I have no way of telling whether or not he’s on planet or off.  I’ve been trying to keep it as quiet as possible for fear of what Fury will do as retribution when Loki eventually shows back up.  If he shows back up.”  The blond man shook his head, giving a low sigh.  “I don’t suppose he’s told you where he might have gone?”

She shook her head, brow furrowed and mind whirling.  No.  Never once had Loki talked of leaving--he had nowhere else to go, as he’d once told her.  Who else would take in the disgraced would-be son of Asgard, the near-destroyer of worlds?  Thor nodded and thanked her after she’d promised to keep quiet about the situation, leaving her to her thoughts, allowing them to stew and manifest into scenarios she didn’t want to think about, all the while reminding herself this is your fault, all of this is your fault.  

* * *

They started with his familiar haunts: Stuttgart, his abandoned HQ from before Manhattan, even scoured every inch of his room, Nat trying to find some sort of a clue.  As if it wasn’t enough, the others had noticed Loki’s absence as well, most notably Fury.  

“What do you mean he’s sick?” The man demanded when Nat met with him after the third time he called for an update on the mischief god, said god having missed a few days of work on rebuilding the city he’d destroyed.  It was part of the arrangement made, and though Nat had initially been grateful for it (as it had given him an excuse to stay longer) it was now turning more into a burden.

“I mean he’s under the weather, not up to par, ill, nauseous--.”

“I didn’t ask for a thesaurus.”

“But you did demand I clarify sick, sir.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Barton and Loki.  How can he be sick, agent?  I thought he was immune to all our sicknesses.”  

“That’s why we’re worried, sir.  He should be.”  Perhaps she was spending too much time around those two; she’d always been good at lying (it came with the job for the love of God) but this?  It was getting easier and easier every time, even as she talked with Fury.  The man seemed none the wiser which was even more bizarre.  She couldn’t dwell on that, though.  There’d be time to deal with it later.  “I’d like to request permission on his behalf to bring Loki back to Asgard--.”

“No.”

“Under supervision--.”

“No.”

“To find out what’s wrong.”

“Niet.  Non.  Nine.”

“Impressive vocabulary, sir.”

“Then you should see me when I really get going.  Keep up this train of thought and you won’t he happy with it.”

Nat gritted her teeth and nodded, turning slowly on her heel to walk away.  Well that had just made her mood significantly worse.

“Romanov, don’t you dare let me catch him off planet.”

She wouldn’t let the Director catch him, that was for sure.  

 

It took two weeks for them to finally track Loki down.  Well, rather for him to show up again.  Nat hadn’t been sure what to expect when she’d gotten the text from an unidentified number telling her to be at her safe house, the one just on the outskirts of the Bronx.  It had been the first place Loki had showed up the first time he’d come to her and, well, she was about ninety percent sure it had to be him.  All the same, she wore her catsuit under a heavy jacket to combat against the wind as well as conceal the two guns she had strapped to her waist.  Just in case.  

The building . . . well, it felt different when she walked in there, she supposed.  Strange, infused with something.  Magic.  Her heart skipped a little as she stepped quickly up the three sets of stairs to the top floor, hoping against hope that this wasn’t a trap.  If it was, and there was someone else in here that knew how to do magic then her bullets weren’t going to be any good.  She wished, not for the first time, that she’d told someone where she’d be, but they would’ve all insisted she went with back-up, and should it really turn out to be Loki he wouldn’t be in the right frame of mind for her to come in with anyone else.  Biting the bullet, she quickly pulled out the spare key to her apartment and unlocked the door, pushing it open slowly.  There was music playing, too soft to be heard from the hallway, though the melody was old and familiar, instantly recognizable.  It had been playing on the radio when Loki had first asked Natasha to go on an outing with him, as he’d called it.  The sentimentality twisted her gut and made her teeth clench.  So it was him.  

“Loki?” She called out quietly, following where the music filtered from, her footsteps stopping just on the edge of her door.  A figure was already laying in bed, one arm extended into the air, fingers gently tapping on an imaginary keyboard, as though they were playing along with the tune in the background. It wouldn’t have amazed Natasha if he did know how to play it, as accomplished as he was at many things.  Even if he didn’t there was no doubt in her mind he’d find a way to at least try, and it’d be halfway decent to say the least.  

He didn’t respond to her calling out to him, and so she stepped a little closer, keeping the door open.  There was the softest of lights coming from the other side of the full bed, illuminating her face to Loki’s but keeping his own in shadow, silhouetted even as he turned to look at her.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I would.  I’ve been worried sick--.”

“Because of the contract with Fury, I know.”  His words were a deadpan imitation of Loki’s voice, nowhere near the usual fluidity of his language or the beauty of his tone.  Her heart sunk deeper into the recesses of her body, weakening her knees.  

“Because I was afraid someone else got you.”  

Even in the poor lighting she could see his brow furrow, having tried to detect a lie and failed.  It wasn’t a lie, couldn’t be.  Time and time again she’d been terrified she and Thor would get the news that Thanos, or the Other had caught up with Loki.  That he’d be forced to atone for failing to retrieve the tesseract for them and they’d find him, more or less in pieces scattered across the universe.  It kept her up most nights if she was honest with herself, or honest with him.  He hadn’t expected that of her, she knew, able to read the discomfort on his face with her sudden candid behavior.  Toeing off her shoes, she removed the coat and the two guns she’d brought with her.  He gave a quiet ‘tut’ of interest.

“You thought you’d have to fight me?”

“I’m a spy, Loki.  I never go anywhere unarmed.”

A pause.  “You thought I was a fake.”

“I didn’t know what to think.”  

Shifting from his lying position Loki was in front of her within a moment.  Something was different, off.  His breath was cool on her face and when he touched her goosebumps ran up her arms, the pads of his fingers soft as they moved up to her forearm.  She leaned into his touch when it reached the side of her face, taken aback by how chilly he was, until she opened her eyes to catch his own.  They were red, and his skin . . . well, it was turning blue in front of her eyes.  Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, watching lines begin to spread and sprawl over his newly colored skin.  

“This is me, Natasha.  Really me.  As I am, as I’ve always been.   Is this not proof enough for you?”

“It is.”  She said, voice hoarse.  He gave a quiet, humorless chuckle before beginning to pull away from her.  She stopped him, hand on his wrist tight enough to make him go tense.  The chill raced through her body so that when her breath hit the air it fogged over.  “Don’t leave.  Not again.”

“Last I knew you didn’t want to see me again.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You can’t keep doing that.”  His voice lost its once empty quality, resounding now with frustration and a hint of anger.  “You can’t string me along like this, Natasha.  One moment you want me, the next you want nothing to do with me.  Choose which one it is, or I will make the decision for you.”

She didn’t let his hand go, though, ignoring the tension in his body to pull him closer.  Her eyes bled into his, and she didn’t stop closing in until her lips were a seconds away from his.  “I told you that I want you.  I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t, Loki.  I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t, Thor would be in my place trying to convince you that the world is made of rainbows and kittens and faerie dust.  I’m not about to say that it’s going to be easy but as long as you want me, I want you too.”  

She released his hand to bring it slowly up his cheek, brushing away the smallest of icicles that had dripped down the blue surface and brought her lips to follow her fingers.  He caught her mouth before it could make contact, and if she’d thought the rest of him was cold his mouth was the exact opposite, searing her senses with its heat as he crushed her against him.  It was enough, she realized, to be in his arms.  Their relationship wouldn’t be perfect, she couldn’t depend on him to always align his ideals to hers, nor hers to his, or for him to suddenly reform, but it would always be enough, and she couldn’t see anything wrong with that.  

 


	6. Pitter Patter Goes My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by JackPittGregor, who wanted Loki cooking for Nat without magic. Enjoy!

“Dammit, why the bloody hell won’t you work with me you cursed technology?”

Natasha tried not to grin as she heard Loki cursing in the other room, the smell of charred food hitting her nostrils not seconds later as he cursed in a language that sounded old as time itself.  She’d made her way silently out of bed as soon as she’d realized he was gone, curious as to why, and as she peeked around the corner to spy on him she understood.  The kitchen was an absolute wreck: egg shells littered the countertops and floor, what looked like flour had been spilled all over the sink, where a batter-filled bowl stood, collecting water from the dripping faucet.  Loki bent down to try and pull a pan out of the oven, the heat obviously nothing to him as he pulled a pan of burnt bacon from inside and swore again.  The toaster, too, belched up burnt toast, as though everything in the kitchen conspired to make sure his breakfast wouldn’t turn out right.  

Come to think of it, as the room was run by Jarvis she wouldn’t have been amazed if Tony had installed something to make sure that it all, in fact, did go wrong.  

The thought made her laugh quietly, and Loki turned immediately to face her.  His face fell.  “Darling.  You weren’t supposed to be up yet,” he said, placing the pan of burnt bacon on a clean surface.  It’d scorch, Nat was sure, though she didn’t really care, too busy taking him in.  If she thought the kitchen was a mess it was nothing to the usually well-kept god in front of her.  He had an apron on, the red, white, and blue one that Steve always donned when he cooked, and it as an absolute trainwreck of batter, flour, and grease.  There was what looked like more flour in Loki’s hair, streaking it white, and as she stepped up closer to him she noticed something red on the corner of his lips.  She kissed it, tasting strawberries.  What a cutie.  

“You were making breakfast?” She asked when she pulled away.

“I was attempting to bring you breakfast in bed, but this bloody mortal technology is difficult. I have a newfound respect for Rogers; I assumed if a dolt as slow as he could manage to cook without magic then so could I.”  He spread his arms out to his side, as if he needed any further proof.  Nat didn’t bother bringing up her suspicions about Tony.  

“Well, that’s what you get for doubting him,” she teased.  “Why don’t we go out instead?  There’s a great diner that does take-out so we can come back and eat in bed.  You can pay, too,” she said, watching as his lips quirked into a smile, knowing that she’d suggested it to keep him from feeling bad about being unable to cook.  

“Your wish is my command.  Shall I--?”

“Nah.  Leave it for Tony.” She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek.  

 


	7. Hold On To Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Natasha drummed her fingers on the plastic bench she was sitting on, blowing a curl of red hair out of her face. She’d been waiting for over ten minutes, and the movie was due to start in five, tickets for which were underneath her anxious digits. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always wanted to do a college AU, so here's my way of satisfying that urge. Enjoy!

This was getting really old.  Really quickly.  Natasha drummed her fingers on the plastic bench she was sitting on, blowing a curl of red hair out of her face.  She’d been waiting for over ten minutes, and the movie was due to start in five, tickets for which were underneath her anxious digits.  Darcy had agreed to come with her to the movie, though she’d pulled a face when Nat had first explained the less than conventional plot.  She couldn’t help that she was interested in psychological thrillers and dramas; they were so much more interesting than the usual macho-action or chick-flick crap that paraded through theaters every other week.  This had potential, and she was going to miss the opening credits if Darcy didn’t move her sophomore ass.  It didn’t help that the song overhead was annoyingly cheery and the sun was out, as though to poke fun at Nat’s quickly darkening mood.  If this stupid girl didn’t hurry up Nat wasn’t going to be responsible for--.  

What the hell was he doing here?  Her eyes narrowed as she watched the black haired man step through the doors, brushing his hair from his face as he searched around the vast room, trying to find someone.  His eyes stopped and focused in on Natasha, thin lips quirking downwards as he tried to figure something or other out.  Nat was barely able to withstand a groan as he stepped closer to her.  

“Have you seen Darcy?” He asked, without so much as a formal hello.  There was no need for one, really.  Thor and Nat had had a brief fling spring of Freshman year, and Loki had only been too vocal about how he disapproved of her.  It had only gone downhill from there, the pair of them meeting in the assorted classes or on campus, and he’d only ever treated her in a standoffish manner.

From what she could tell by the way his brow drew together and his lips pursed when he came closer things hadn’t exactly improved, even three years later.

“No.  And if I did I’d beat her ass because she’s nearly late for--.  Shit.”  

Loki, too, seemed to have come to the same conclusion, green eyes turning as he scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets and adopting a less than pleased face.  Natasha turned to swear in Russian, looking down at the tickets that Darcy had given her “for safe keeping.”  Brat.  She was going to get Nat’s fist up her ass for safe keeping for this stunt.  Longingly, her eyes turned to the theater.  She might as well go in, she supposed, and since Loki had whipped his phone out and was texting furiously she took a half a second to analyze the situation.  They didn’t have to sit by each other, after all.  

“Well.  Do you want to go see the movie?  I’ve got an extra ticket.”  There.  Nothing too extensive, nothing leading.  Just a free ticket if he was interested.  His fingers stopped mid sentence as he looked up from his phone to where Nat was standing in front of him.  The phone disappeared in his pocket.

“It’s not something embarrassingly emotional, is it?” He asked, sounding skeptical.  Nat rolled her eyes and shoved one of the tickets into his hand.

“No.  Ass.  Look, just forget about this I guess.  You can watch the movie if you want but I’m not missing it.”  She’d been waiting for it for too long, and it hardly took a minute for Loki to catch back up with her.  And sit near her in the theater. She tried not to hold herself a little tighter, sneaking glances of him as he stripped out of his thin jacket, her breath catching slightly in her throat when the bottom of his shirt rose up just high enough to show the small trail of hair leading downwards into his jeans.

Nope.  No no no.  She turned her attention to the asinine before movie trivia questions, tried to focus on them, on anything but the way his long fingers had taken to texting again, then drumming in a similar pattern to Natasha’s own as he waited for a response.  Even when the lights darkened, the pair of them virtually alone in the large theater with two other people sitting in the very back, he didn’t put his phone down all together.  

“Hey, no texting.”  She’d meant it to sound like a joke, really, she had.  What came out was a short rebuke, one that had him glowering over at her.  Whoops?  “It’s rude.”

“You’re going to have to sit over here to make me stop,” he threatened, rolling his eyes as he went back, after admittedly darkening the screen a little.  He only looked back up when Nat moved to sit beside him, holding out her hand for the phone.  

“This movie is going to be the best of the year.  You’re not going to ruin it for yourself and me by texting the whole time,” she said, deathly serious as she stared at him.  He held her gaze, slipping the small device into her hand, half out of awe and half because he knew she’d never let him keep it.  Not after she’d risen to the occasion.  

He didn’t miss throughout the whole movie, hands too busy playing with hers halfway through the movie, one arm wrapped around her shoulders as her whole body tensed during a particularly terrifying moment that had her panting and heart racing in fear, before squeezing her hand tight after she grabbed it in terror, body jumping with surprise as the character went through a particularly vicious hallucination.  They didn’t untangle until well after the movie was done, finding one another, already almost a habit, once they’d made it back to the lobby.  

 

Maybe Nat wouldn’t kill Darcy the next time she saw her.  

 


	8. Maybe We Started This Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt from Menolly23: "Can you write a fic in which Clint leaves Natasha and comes back to find her happy with Loki?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! Title comes from the song "The Things We Lost In The Fire" by Bastille, and many thanks to Menolly23 from ff.net for the prompt!

The pair of them had been standing in the empty room for some time as Clint struggled to come up with words, tried to find some sort of an explanation to the red head standing in front of him.  To her credit she didn’t say a thing, gave him the time he needed to compose his thoughts, standing just a few feet in front of him with her arms hanging down at her sides.  It was about as close to relaxed as Natasha got, and even then Clint was amazed that she could feel so calm and at ease.  As though nothing was wrong.  That wasn’t true, though; everything was wrong.  

Clint sighed as he ran a hand over his face, palms sweating and eyes shifting to his feet.  At least there he had a reprieve from the disbelieving look that crossed occasionally across Natasha’s face, a shot of pain usually following right afterwards.  It was almost too much, but, well, he had to tell her the truth.  It would only hurt more the longer he let it go.  

“Look, Nat, I know I don’t have to tell you that nothing’s--well, after Manhattan, after what Loki did to me, well, I don’t know how everything can go back to normal.  I don’t know how to go on after that.”

“Clint, we’ve been through this.  You’re not to blame for any of it.”  She took a slow step towards him.  Clint can read her hesitance in it, how she puts the most of her weight on her heel, preparing to step back if needed.  He allowed her to drop a hand onto his own, squeeze it, but shortly after he pulled away and forced himself to look up.  Her brow was furrowed, blue eyes looking up into his, trying to read him for an answer.  He knew he hardly had to say a thing, knew that she could read him as easily as if he was one of her targets.  The exact moment the realization hit her nearly cleaved his heart in two.  Her eyes flew open, mouth pressed tightly together, and very quickly Natasha Romanov, the woman he’d once clung to with all his might, disappeared.  The Black Widow stood in her place, protecting her heart and thickening the woman’s skin until it was titanium.  Her arms wrapped tight around her chest, holding herself together as she stepped back away from Clint.

“I can’t, Tasha.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”  Her words were curt, empty, and as powerful as the window bites he half expected her to throw at him.  If she was a petty woman she might have, he supposed, but that wasn’t the Black Widow’s technique.  “I understand.  You need time.  Distance.  It’s how you’ve always worked.”  And her words told him that she’d been a fool but expected more from him.  He’d been her oldest friend after all, and that he couldn’t trust her enough to be just with her?  She didn’t know how to move on from there, and so she pulled herself away as well.  It was safest.  

He reached out for her, about to ask that she didn’t do that, didn’t shut him out, but she shook her head and pulled away again.  

“No, Clint.  You don’t get to make yourself out like the victim.  If you don’t want to be with me then fine.  Own up to it.”  Her words were rough, edged in pain but nothing less than pure steel will beneath it.  She didn’t say another thing before turning and disappearing out the door, leaving him to contemplate the monumental mistake he’d just made.  Not that he’d take it back.  She would understand when he got his head together and explain it better, would understand that he couldn’t concentrate on getting his head fixed, on figuring his own madness out and then coming back to her.  If anything she might even be grateful he hadn’t involved her in his problems.  They were teammates, yes, but she didn’t need any extra drama or problems on her plate, not like his.  

 

He spent the next month and a half in and out of missions and spending his saved up vacation time.  More than once he visited Phil in Tahiti, enjoying the heat and peace of the beaches and the ocean.  Maybe it was just what he needed to get his head back together, to get Loki completely out of it, because he felt better than he had in decades by the time he finally made it once more to Shield Headquarters.  Fury welcomed him back with a small smile and a clap on the back, though his face twitched in the slightest when Clint asked where Natasha was.  

“She’s due back in a few minutes; you can wait for her on the landing strip if you want,” Fury said, voice unreadable.  Clint frowned.  What the hell was that about?  Sure, he’d figured most people had heard about he and Nat’s falling out, but seriously?  He was getting flack from the Director about it?  He nodded and thanked Fury once more before heading out.  As the Director had predicted the jet was just coming in, and Clint grinned to see it pull back in, leaning up against the wall near the door.  He’d missed her in the time he’d been away, and now he couldn’t wait to--.  

Loki walked out of the jet first, grinning, his arm wrapped around Natasha’s waist.  She wasn’t pushing him off, either; if anything she was leaning into the touch, her eyes guarded as they stared up at him but lips definitely smiling at him.  That was Clint’s smile, the one he’d only ever seen her give him.  His blood boiled at the sight, and what was more she hardly did more than a once over when she saw him, her smile lessening.  

“Barton.  Good to have you back,” she said, tipping her head in recognition, a certain coldness sweeping in behind her eyes.  Clint stood there, dumbfounded, before reaching out to grip her wrist.  

“A month and a half since I last saw you and that’s all you’ve got for me?” He asked, incredulous

“You didn’t have a month and a half of time for me, so yes,” Natasha murmured, her lips pursed.  “I’ve had to adapt, Barton.”  She looked over at Loki, who’d disengaged and was standing by the door.  She nodded for him to go ahead, which he did only after throwing the archer a quick, contemptuous look.  The god was lucky he was even walking away as far as Clint was concerned.  “Look, I’m glad you’re back,” she said honestly.  “But you hurt me.  A lot.”

“And now you’re with the one bastard who made me like that.”  His eyes narrowed, hardly able to believe it.  How had the bastard even gotten on base?!  “And whose idea was it to bring him on board, yours?  Or his idiot brothers?”

“He got into your head, but you pushed me out, Clint.  I trusted you.  I came to you after the Red Room, asked for your help getting their crazy out of my head,” Nat murmured, blue eyes imploring him to remember.  How could he forget?  “But you didn’t trust me to do the same.  That stung, Clint.  Now maybe I’ve moved on a little fast but Loki?  He’s like me, and he’s working on it.  We work on things together, open up to one another.  When you left he came back to make things right, and while a lot of us were skeptical at first he’s trying.  He’s getting there, struggling like we all did, but he’s opening up now.”

“I’ve opened up to you--.”

“Only when you wanted me to do the same.  The minute I gave you everything I had, spilled my guts to you time and time again and had nothing else to offer?  You shut me down.  I’m sorry, Clint.  I can’t do that.”  She reached up to stroke one side of his face.  He pulled away and she frowned.  

“I’ll catch you later.  I have to go meet Fury for a debriefing on our mission.”  She turned to walk away and Clint nearly snarled in his anger, fury bubbling through the surface.  

“So that’s it?  Seriously?  Because I was trying to get my shit together you’ve had enough and you aren’t going to even look or talk to me the same way?  That’s a load of shit Nat,” he cursed, reaching out and yanking her back to him with a firm hand on her shoulder.  She stiffened beneath his grip and he knew he was treading a very, very fine line, fine enough to convince him to let go.  “I helped you out of the Red Room--gave you the second chance you needed to prove that you could be a good person and you’re wasting that on him of all people?  The one who fucked me over more than anyone else I’ve ever met?”

She paused, breathing deep as she forced herself to calm down.  “No, Clint.  I’m passing on the favor to someone who wants me to listen and help,” she said.  Her eyes turned pitying and he hated her for it, wanted to smack some sense into her.  Cognitively recalibrate her and see if that didn’t change a few things.  “You got help from someone else, from Phil, and that’s great.  You don’t need me, Clint.  Not like I thought I needed you.  I’ll see you around.”  She dipped her head once more to him before disappearing inside, leaving Clint dumbfounded and fuming, fingers fumbling for his phone.  

“Phil?  Yeah, it’s Barton.  How much longer did you say you had in Tahiti?”  A pause.  “No, a few months sounds great.  I promise not to make a mess of things this time.”  He’d done that enough as it was.  

 


	9. Thanksgiving Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin, ladies and gents!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jessy of bittenbyblackfrost, who wanted Loki being confused about cranberry sauce.

“What is it?” Loki asked as he picked up the festive plate, eyeing the shaking red heap on the plate, the cranberry sauce foreign to him.  Nat grinned as she took hold of the corn on the cob, bright yellow and steaming.  

“Cranberry sauce.  It’s sweet,” she assured him, sticking a finger into the goop and offering it to him, balancing her plate in her other hand with ease.  He accepted it with a smile, tongue warm against her finger as he sucked on her finger, tongue swirling around the digit enough to make even Natasha blush a little.  Well then.  

“See?  Told you,” she said after he’d released her hand and she let it drop back to her side.  “I told you it was delicious.”

“It’s not bad.  It has some merit, certainly,” he said, eyeing the food in front of him.  “But it’s consistency leaves . . . much to be desired.”

“Don’t tell Steve that.  He and Bruce slaved away all day,” Nat warned him, nudging him with her hip as she walked past and into the dining room.  Tony had made sure to set it up with anything that Steve had told him to, knowing much better than to mess with his husband on this day, of all days.  The table was laden with food of all sorts, stuffing and sweet potatoes, casseroles and salads of all sorts.  The turkey was coming right behind Nat and Loki, carried with ease by Steve who looked as proud as a mother who’d just seen her child win a spelling bee.  He had every right to be: it was absolutely gorgeous, and huge.  Then again, with Steve and Thor, along with the other boys who had more than a healthy appetite, she supposed that was warranted.  

“How’d you fit that into Tony’s oven and still get it looking that good?” She asked when he placed it on the table, smiling as he took his place to start carving it.  The others filtered in behind, bringing the rest of the side dishes.  Tony came over to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek.  

“‘Cause he’s Captain America.  No oven too small for his Thanksgiving celebrations.”  Tony said, sounding prouder than he ought to considering he hadn’t done anything.  Bruce rolled his eyes and nudged him while Steve just chuckled.  

“I don’t share those types of secrets, Natasha.  No offense,” Steve winked.  “But I promised my ma I’d guard her secret with my life.”

They all shared an earnest chuckle at that as they seated themselves, the wine and beer and apple cider passed around as Steve carved the bird.  Clint leaned over to kiss Phil on the cheek, Thor grinned and applauded Steve and Bruce for his culinary prowess from his place alongside the latter, while Pepper thanked Tony for the wine that he poured she and Happy.  

“Do I owe you a kiss?” Loki turned his head to whisper into Natasha’s ear.  Nat grinned and tipped his chin up to press her lips to his.  He cupped the side of her face, but they parted at the sound of Tony clearing his throat.  

“And a happy Thanksgiving to you, too,” Tony grinned as they parted and looked to him.  Nat rolled her eyes but squeezed Loki’s hand under the table and grinned even wider when Loki spooned some of the cranberry sauce onto his plate along with a bit of everything else.

 


	10. Whetting the Appetite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha reminisces about her most recent flings with Loki between her legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda came out of a crack idea that I really wanted to write something where Nat's ridiculously appreciative of Loki's skills at eating her out, and also out of a desire to write something in which Nat has had sex in the past and isn't condemned for it :O   
> Enjoy!

There was just something about the way he looked between her legs, the way his eyes closed as though he enjoyed what he was doing, how his fingers clutched her thighs as tightly as she held onto the bedspread beneath her.  She hated how good he was at it, and how much Loki seemed to actually like bringing her off with his tongue and the slightest hints of teeth.  Jeremy, the quick fling she’d had not two weeks ago, while being sweeter than Barton's sugar sticks, had been a bit of a bumbling idiot when it came to that, so much so that she’d just pulled him up and guided him into her without much trouble.  He’d gotten the job done alright, and he was well enough endowed to have made it enjoyable, but his technique needed some help, and Nat wasn’t a patient enough teacher to deal with that all the time.  She’d lived far too long, and dealt with far too much crap, to go through life settling for less than exceptional sex.  

Needless to say she’d made sure the barista had known it was a one time thing, though he still gave her an extra shot of espresso when she came in to get coffee.  Cutie.  

Derek, a few days after that, had been the opposite.  His technique was great, tongue flattening against her clit before dipping deep into her to make her scream.  He was a rather handsy guy, though, and it was all Nat could to do get through one evening spent with him--with her clothes on--without having to nearly deck him because he thought it appropriate to slap her ass on the way to the cab, or else quickly grab her breast as they danced in one of the clubs he’d gotten them into.  

Had he known what the Widow could do to him in a split second he might’ve thought twice about it, and the bastard had been clingy as all unholy hell afterwards, calling her and asking whether they’d go out again.  As politely as she could muster she’d told him, in no uncertain terms, exactly where he could stick the second date he’d wanted.  

Loki broke her out of those thoughts by pressing a single, slim finger inside her, teasing her slick walls with a faint ‘come hither’ motion that had her panting, red-faced, beneath him.  She keened, back bending a little, as he pressed the pad of his finger to her g-spot, tongue still swirling around her clit.  

Andrew had been rather fond of that technique.  Though he hadn’t quite wanted anything more sexual than just oral, which Nat didn’t have a problem reciprocating, he’d not been as good as he seemed to think, paying far too much attention to her clit so that anything else, like the fingers he’d press into her quickly and without warning, would’ve been dulled down if not so sudden and beyond forceful.  She’d sent him off as soon as he’d brought her to an orgasm, not caring that he whined about not getting his.  He was a lousy date anyway, the dumbass having picked the most expensive restaurant near them and expecting Nat to pay because he’d seen her taking one of Stark’s cars and assumed it was her own.  

“Are any of them as good as I am?” Loki hummed from between her legs, catching her attention once more as he slipped another slow finger inside her, stretching her with ease and licking his lips almost pornographically.  Hell, everything he did was practically pornographic, Nat thought as she leaned up on her forearms so she could look at him.

“What?” She breathed.  

“The other men that you’ve slept with.”  His gaze caught hers.  “You were thinking of them.  How do I compare?” He teased.  

“I think there’s a better use for your mouth than asking me about something that’s none of your business,” she said, though the last word caught in her throat, her head knocking backwards as he picked back up what he was doing with renewed vigor.  

No matter how much he snarked about it, it was always Loki that came to her, all but asking her to get on her back and let him please her as he wanted.  She would never complain about it, the pleasure that came with easy to see why he was revered his excellent tongue, and as she buried her hand in his hair and tugged she felt him moan beneath her.  All the better, she supposed, whimpering as his tongue and fingers began to work in tandem, sliding in and out of her with practiced rhythm and force enough to weaken her knees further.  She came with his name on her mouth, and from the way that his other hand had gone missing, and his body had suddenly gone rigid, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he just finished himself off.  

After the stars had left her eyes she sat up fully, watching as Loki cleaned himself off with a wave of his hand, her guess having been right, and stood in front of her.  

“Are you satisfied?” He asked, smarmy as all get out.  He knew she enjoyed it, knew that she loved it when he came to visit her.  “I daresay I’m better than anyone else you’ve been with.”

“Might have to show me again,” Nat smirked, head tipping to the side as his pupils dilated with lust once more and he leaned in to press his lips to hers.  Challenge accepted.  

 


	11. Yoga Pant Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing gets in the way of Nat’s comfort on her few, precious days off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Jessy, who very much needs to learn the power of yoga pants and all their glory.

“Loki, I told you--today is a yoga pant day,” Natasha glowered, her side turned to the god as she swatted his fingers away from where they were prying the band of her black, most comfortable pants down.  When that didn’t work, she stomped her foot onto his, the hiss of pain coming from his lips reward enough.  “That means these stay on until bed time.”

“Natasha,” he gave the softest of whines in her ear and pressed his body close against her back, allowing her to feel exactly what the sight of her in yoga pants did to him.  It wasn’t his fault that she had an exceptional backside, the best he’d ever seen in his thousand years of living, and with the taut, soft fabric of her trousers supporting it and clinging to every curve the way it did?  He groaned as he ground his hips into hers.  “Just for half an hour.  I swear I’ll make it worth your while, I’ll do anything you ask me to,” he purred, nipping at her earlobe.  She groaned, allowing her hips to press back against him, and he practically shivered with lust.  The fabric was thin, and he could feel the warmth of her skin against his groin as she ground her hips into his, his moan soft in her ear.  “Please, darling?” Hell, he was begging now, but he needed her so badly--.

The elbow of hers jamming into his gut was not so welcome, and took him by surprise enough to make him back up a couple steps while Nat turned to glare again, one of her eyebrows rising.  That was the look, the one that told him he was in deep shit, as she hiked the edges of her pants back to their resting place of her hips and turned to walk out the door.  

“My pants. Stay. On.” She shouted back after him.  Tony, who’d been in the room just next to them watching TV, snickered.  

“A word to the wise my friend?” He called to Loki when the god moved to stand in the doorframe, watching Nat go the same way a starving man watched a banquet being laid out in front of him that he couldn’t have.  “She gets all of, one to two complete days off every couple weeks.  Don’t mess with yoga pant day.”  

 


	12. Misery Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon on bittenbyblackfrost who wanted a Jag Commercial-esque Blackfrost fic, I humbly present this drabble

“Loki, we don’t have time for this,” Nat murmured, though she wasn’t about to move from where she was seated in his car.  He’d rented it for the evening, on the pretense of taking her out for a date, but though they’d both gotten dressed up to the nines he had her in the backseat, his lips fastened to her neck as he bit his way down the fine column of muscle and nerves there until she shuddered beneath him.  One of her hands twisted in his coal-black hair, half between pulling him off and keeping him there as long as she could bare, while he shifted to seat himself between her legs, hiking the skirt of her dress up around her groin.  One of his hands came between them, wrapping her legs around his waist before pressing against the soft silk of her panties, stroking her through the fabric until she whimpered beneath him, while his other hand massaged her breast through her dress as well.  Nat, thrilled that she’d decided to wear a bra, looked over at the clock on the dashboard of the new Jag he’d been insistent on getting.  

“We’re going to be late,” she whined, the last word cut off as she bucked her hips closer to his fingers.  

“No we won’t,” he promised, his teeth now working at her collarbone until she shuddered, goosebumps rising on her arms and back arching into his touch.  “I can be quite quick when I have to be if you know what I mean.”

“If you mean you’re going to quickly get inside me then yes,” she huffed, bucking her hips once more in rhythm to the motion of his fingers as they slipped her panties to the side to press one, then two long digits inside her slick heat.  Her gasp was cut off by another moan as his second hand slipped one of the straps of her dress down far enough to give some slack to the front of the black sheath and pull one of her breasts from its confines.  His mouth immediately attached to it, and before she could so much as say “Oh fuck” he was pressing into her, having used her distraction to withdraw his fingers, undo his fly, and align their hips until he seated himself entirely within her.  Her head tipped back, moans filling the surprisingly large backseat of the Jag, as her hands came to rest on the shoulders of his suit jacket, the soft fabric bunched beneath her fingers as he drove into her over, and over again.  His name on her lips, her eyes met his when he looked up to her, tongue circling her nipple taking it ever-so gently between his teeth and applying pressure.  Unsuspecting of it, she tightened around him, coming hard enough to make her voice go hoarse as she shouted for him, grateful that he’d assured her of the cab’s sound proof abilities.  Or was that just his way of foreshadowing what was going to happen?

Not like she had the mental capacity to really think about it, not when he was bucking into her in a fervor, mouth pulling away from her breast to breathe hotly in her ear.  

“What was that you said about not having enough time?” He asked, a low, sensual laugh filling her senses as she felt herself getting close enough for a second orgasm, the rough thrusts of him inside her about to send her toppling over the edge.  

“Dammit, Loki, just come for me please,” she begged, tipping her head to the side to nip at his ear.  “Come for me baby, c’mon, please Loki.  Please!”  

Two could play that game, she thought, as she felt him tense beneath her, and as he gasped and groaned, spilling into her with one last groan of her name, she felt herself join him, legs tightening around his hips and nails about ready to split the fabric of his suit.  

 

By some miracle they managed to make it to the other side of town to only be ten minutes late for the opera, only after disposing of the bodies of the perps to the nearest SHIELD facility, Nat having nearly missed the drugs bust she’d all but begged Loki to let them go to.  It was on their way, after all, and with such a big trunk, well, she’d have been an idiot to pass up the opportunity.  

“I think I might end up buying one of these,” she mused as the valet took the keys from Loki to park it and they headed inside, the show just about to start.  “Could come in handy.”

“I told you it would get us there on time,” he smirked, winking when she caught his eye.  “It’s one of the more suitable substitutions for travel by horseback.”

“Does a horse have a back seat that you can fuck your girlfriend in?” She asked, leaning closer to whisper it in his ear, relishing the way his hand tightened over hers.  “Didn’t think so.”  She kissed his cheek before taking her seat in one of the balcony seats, the music just having started, her fingers twining with Loki’s.  If they ended up having to take a second go at it during the intermission, well, she wasn’t about to complain.  

 


	13. Domestic!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt left on my tumblr--just a quick, domestic!AU starter that cracked me up, prompted by Jessy

"How do people live like this?" Loki groaned as he pressed his head to the ancient oak table, closing his eyes and trying to keep from sounding like a petchulant child but he was  _bored._ No, beyond bored.  He’d surpassed that three days ago, when he and Natasha had been invited to a neighborhood barbeque and he’d been forced to dress in a field green polo and a pair of khakis.   _Khakis_ —as if the God of Mischief and Deciet had nothing else better to do with his time than play domesticity with the woman who’d defeated him not two years ago.  

But Odin’s rule was absolute: he was to work off the debt acrued by his idiocy in Manhattan by working through SHIELD, and at that moment it meant being undercover to work with Natasha and survey a senior member of Hydra, one who apparently had a taste for the mundane.  

They had two weeks left of this madness, and already he and Natasha had fought, screamed at one another, fucked on every surface imaginable, he’d kicked her ass in Wii Sports, and she’d returned the favor on Call of Duty.  

And he was still rock-bottom bored.  Natasha, too, was going out of her mind with what else was there to do in such a place.  They had a pool, but as the weather had begun to cool swimming hadn’t really seemed on the top of their to do list, even as Loki had grinned lecherously at her upon seeing it their first day.  Now, well, the cat was out of the bag, him having seen her naked, so what was the point in getting hypothermia just so he could see her in a bikini?  

She longed to be back at SHIELD, where Tony was testing some of his new weapons, modifying them until they were to the peak of perfection. He’d promised her new guns, new ammo, new additions to the Widow suit, and she was salivating to get back to it.  Why were the boys having all the fun when she was stuck here playing housewife, getting invited to book club and pretending that she and Loki were thinking of adopting a child from Taiwan?  

That was it.  Ignoring Loki’s further lamentations she strode into the kitchen and all but ripped open the bottom cupboards, rummaging around in the basic cleaning supplies until she found what she need.  ”Get me an empty bottle, and a piece of cloth,” she called to Loki.  ”And put on a dark jacket.”  

 

"I just can’t believe who would do such a thing like that.  Setting off explosives so close to your house—you must’ve been petrified," Amelie, their next door neighbor, had gushed when she came over to see what had happened the last night, when the fire department had been called to deal with a small brush fire that had erupted a few miles behind Natasha and Loki’s house.  

Nat barely managed a sniffle, shaking like a leaf as she took a sip of her coffee.  Loki, beside her, had deep bags under his eyes, as though he’d been up all night fretting over it, and as he squeezed her shoulder she couldn’t help but hide her grin with a choked sob.  Oh yeah, petrified.  Right.  

They already had plans to go deeper into the woods and try out another chemical combination, just to see if they could get the flames any higher. 


	14. Vampire!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the starter meme, and the anon, who asked for a Blackfrost Vampire!AU =]

She’d felt him eyeing her for the past twenty minutes and was getting really sick of it, never having been one to like much attention.  Not that she was incredibly invested in the bar, anyway. It’d been a crappy, long day at work, and she figured a couple of cheap beers might at least take the edge off the headache that had slowly been developing since three, when her boss came in and told her that he needed her project done by the end of the week.  Having been promised half a month, stressed out was the nicest way of putting how she felt.  

Throwing back the rest of the drink,she pulled out just enough to cover the beer and give the guy a decent tip for not having bothered her during her stay, and after shrugging on her coat slipped out into the bathroom.  From there, she snuck out the back way and figured herself a genius for avoiding all the extra drama that man might’ve caused.  

Well, if he hadn’t been so determined at least.  

The sound of footsteps were followed shortly by the stench of cheap beer on his breath, and one of his hands came down on her shoulder as he got close enough.  She didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to make contact, and she jumped to get away from him, brow furrowed.  The man, brunette, stocky, with glazed over brown eyes, leered. 

"Hey there.  You interested in going out and having a—?"

"Not interested.  Thank but no thanks."  She said, voice snipped, before she turned to keep walking.  She shoved her hands into her pockets, feeling the edge of her pocket knife press reassuringly back into her palm.  

"Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?" The man demanded, stepping back towards her with a scowl in his voice and threat written over every inch of him.  She tensed, flicking the safety of the knife, so that when he lunged at her again, muttering under his breath about how he’d teach her some lessons, but the liquor had made whatever small amount of grace he might’ve had disappear.  His movements were clumsy as he reached for her arm, and she brought her other one out to swing and hit him square in the jaw, sure she felt the bone dislocate and a tooth or two leave their sockets before she pulled back her other arm and sunk it into his gut, the knife left in her coat pocket.  She wouldn’t need it to deal with this imbecile.  As he gasped for breath she tripped him, knocking him over onto his back and pressed her foot to his throat, pressing down.  

"You know," came a voice from down the alley, this one silken and amused sounding, as a pale, dark-haired man walked out from the shadows into the yellowing light of the streetlamp.  "I was going to offer help but I think you have it handled." 

Yeah.  What about it?  ”Depends on who you were going to help,” she countered, pressing harder onto the windpipe of the man beneath her.  

"I assumed you, but perhaps I ought to make it an even fight," he teased, stepping closer.  Nat felt her heart stop for half a second as she saw his eyes were bright, unmistakably red, and the knife was back in her hand a moment later.  

"What the hell are you?" She demanded, the blade extending as she pointed it at the intruder, watching him step closer.  

"My name is Loki, and if you’re done with the scoundrel beneath your feet, I believe I need a few minutes with him."  He said, opening his mouth to grin.  The tips of his canines were sharp—far too sharp to be human, and though she stepped back to allow him access to the idiot who’d tried to attack her, she couldn’t help but watch, fascinated, as he took the man and bit into his neck.  She watched as her would-be attacker whitened, going limp as a boned fish, before Loki eventually released him to the ground with a soft groan, wiping his mouth of the blood that had amassed.  

"Now," he said, turning back to Nat, looking flush and far less ethereal than he had a moment ago, the once red hue of his eyes dulling until a deep green took over.  "How would you like to go out for a drink?"  

Well, wasn’t he confident? She couldn’t help but smirk, and it wasn’t terror that filled her veins but curiosity.   “Fine.  But I’m kicking your ass if you try anything like that,” she motioned to the man on the ground.  

"My darling—."

"Natasha," she cut in, not one for pet names.  

"Natasha," he amended.  "I wouldn’t dream of hurting you unless you asked me to."  

She could get behind that, she supposed.  


	15. Band!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick drabble/starter for angels-have-the-tardis-221b for the meme on Tumblr.

Natasha rolled her eyes as she watched Loki enter the practice room, stumbling through the room as if he owned it. Never mind that he was nearly a half an hour late for their performance time, but being drunk off of his ass?  He was a good singer, she’d give him that.  And when the mood hit him he could write some of the best songs.  She wouldn’t have stuck around with him if it wasn’t for that, but this?  This was ridiculous.  

"You know you’re a twat, don’t you?" She muttered when he grew closer, taking the mic from the stage manager offering it to him, her fingers tightening on the neck of her guitar.  They were screaming for him out there, and it didn’t help the insane ego he harbored.  

Nor did it help the flare in his eyes as he looked her up and down.  

"And you look excellent.  Green is my favorite color, you know," he teased, winking as he ran a hand over her the shoulder of her shirt.  She reached over to grab him by the collar of his shirt and stared up at him.  Taller than her he might’ve been, but he cowered before her nonetheless even in his drunken stupor.  Awe, he was so cute when he was afraid, she had to admit.

"C’mon Loki.  We’re here to play."

"So let’s play, Miss. Romanov," he winked, nervous of her rage he might be it never stopped him from putting on a show.  

"Perform well enough and I just might after the show."  She countered, always one to have the last word, before she stepped up and onto the brightly lit stage.    


	16. Monster, Dub-con prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted on my tumblr. Slight dub-con warnings for this chapter, but hope you enjoy either way!

She always had a feeling he’d come back for her, just not like that.  Monster, she’d thrown the word out, and perhaps that had been her fault she thought as she took in the blue form in front of her, his red eyes cutting her down and his thin lips twisted in a cruel smirk at her surprised silence.  

Half a second later she had a gun up and pointed at him, another half second and it was covered in ice, shattering as it dropped from her hands and she was pressed quickly back against a wall.  Her arms were pinned above her head and his lips, cold surrounding a hot, wet tongue, were on her throat.  

"You called me a monster.  Let me prove to you how right you are," he growled against her neck, biting into her throat until she let out a low keen, her back arching as pleasure and pain spiked through her body.  His desire, both for her body and her obvious subjugation based on how tight he was holding her, would be the easiest to manipulate, and so she turned to putty beneath him, allowed him to mark up her throat and moaned at the sensation.  It was easy to fake when she felt the slow thrum of arousal in her groin, felt her cheeks heating up when his blood-red eyes looked up to meet her own.  

"Are you ready for me, Agent Romanov?  I’ll make you see just how monstrous I can be," he threatened.  Chills raced up her spine as he shredded her clothing, the casual tank top and sweats dropping to the floor in tatters, before he threw her down atop them and flipped her over onto her front.  Though she fought against him it was all for play, so that when he forced her arms out in front of her he thought he had her beat, icing her wrists above her head and to the floor as he bit his way down her spine.  She gasped, cold fingers rubbing against her very wet and very hot core as he gave a low hiss of delight in finding her already so wet.  

"You’ve wanted this for some time, didn’t you?" He demanded, and she could hear his zipper coming undone.  She shivered beneath him, the cold fingers of his free hand teasing her nipples until they ached, and only then did she feel his length pressing against her entrance, as warm as his mouth had been.  "You’ll take all of me because you’re so willing.  Because monster I may be, but you brought me here.  You made me want you, Natasha.  So take me."  

With a grunt he thrust himself in to the hilt and she barely choked back a shout of surprise, doing her best to turn it into a low, throaty moan that reverbarated through her chest as he withdrew, then shoved himself back in just as hard.  Her fingernails scratched at the wooden floor beneath her, knees ached at the harsh surface beneath him, and yet when he dragged her hips back towards him so he could piston into her again and again she found herself moaning in entire, unadulterated abandon.  It felt like heaven, his cock filling her until she could hardly imagine what it would be like to take anything else, her head bowed, forehead resting against the floor as he muttered over and over about how she was  _his_ and no one else’s, how he’d been watching her for some time, saw how lonely she was.  

"You’ll never be lonely again. You are mine.  Wholly mine."

"Y-yes," she stuttered because it was what he wanted to hear, and somewhere deep, somewhere forbidden within her, she meant it.  He howled with pleasure as he heard the truth ring from her lips, and as one of his hands slipped around to press hard against her clit she came, hard, and tightened around him until she coaxed him to follow.  

He panted and moaned as he came, allowing her to ride out the orgasm before slipping out of her and releasing her arms from her bindings to flip her over.  They were bound, once more, at her side, and he grinned, still hard, before pressing himself into her again.  

"If you think this will be over quickly you are mistaken.  Sorely," he muttered, taking one of her nipples between his teeth and nibbling, sucking hard on the swollen flesh before he proceeded to make her forget her name, forget anything and everything but the words  _yes,_ _more,_ and  _please._  He reduced her to nerve endings, to pure ecstasy, and as he dragged her over the cliff time and time again he always was there to catch her and soothe until her body was ready to take him again and again, the sun playing on their skin as it rose, the night having passed in a whirl of passion and something akin to belonging.  He wrapped one arm around her waist when he finally let her sleep, his blue skin cool against her sweat-covered, boneless body, and she found herself finally relaxing in his embrace.  

Curious how someone who only saw himself as a monster could give her something so fantastic.  


	17. Candyman, Stony Prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by an anon on my tumblr, who wanted Tony explaining Candyman to Steve. Enjoy!

He’d asked for music that might help him get used to what the current era was interested in, in music that would help him get some sort of feel for what was expected, what could be danced to.  And if he asked for music recommendations as a way to listen to what Tony liked then that was just a small bonus, right?  No harm in that, he hoped.  

So when Tony had passed over the Christina Aguilera CD, the blonde woman on the CD painted up to look like a girl from Steve’s age, he was sure Tony was playing a joke on him.  “C’mon, Stark, I mean it.  I’m curious what the music of this age sounds like.”

“Hey, Aguilera is no joke,” Tony defended, crossing his arms over his chest as he grinned and had Jarvis run the CD.  “Candyman, J.  Let’s educate the good Mr Rogers—.” he snorted.  “Shall we?”

Steve frowned, not getting the reference (big surprise) but sat back on the nearest stool.  He couldn’t help but grin as the drums started, the horns following shortly after, the tempo quick enough to make his leg bounce to the rhythm, eyes closing as he let himself listen to the lyrics but not quite catching them.  Was it common for them to be so quick?  Perhaps he was too antiquated in his ways as Tony had suggested.  Either way, the harmonies were more than enjoyable, the few lyrics he caught were clever about Tarzan and Jane and drinking vodka, and if this was what the music of the decade was like, well, he could get used to it.  

“Like it, did you?” Tony asked, and even without opening his eyes Steve could hear the grin in his voice.  

He looked up and nodded.  “Yeah, she’s got a great voice.  Are all of her songs like that?”  He paused as Tony’s face turned downwards for a moment.  “What?  What’s wrong—what’d I say?”

“You didn’t… how is it you aren’t blushing?”  Tony asked, stepping closer and poking him in his chest.  Steve shied away slightly, frowning.  Should he have been?  “That was—you didn’t catch a damn word of it, did you?”  Stark’s mouth opened, astounded.  

Uh, no.  “Something about a candy man?  He’s got sweet lips?”  Steve asked, trying not to focus too closely on Tony’s, subconsciously licking his own.  They were only a few inches away, and Tony let out a snort.  

“Uhh, he’s got those lips like sugar cane, good things come to boys who wait?”  Tony asked, smirking, though the humor on his face died when Steve failed to respond.  “Oh for fuck’s sake—she’s talking about sex!”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh this time.  “Oh c’mon, Stark.  Just because that’s what you want to hear—.”

“He’s a one-stop shop, makes my cherry pop?”  Stark arched a brow, folding his arms over his chest and settling himself back to look at Steve, daring him to say otherwise.  Half a foot shorter than Steve he might’ve been, but Steve couldn’t help but shrink a little in his seat.  What the hell did a cherry have to do with anything?

“That’s her virginity.  God, what’d you guys call it back then?” Stark asked, incredulous.  Before Steve could splutter that, hell, he didn’t really know what dames called it but it certainly wasn’t fruit (and he’d be damned if he ever looked at Tony the same way knowing that the man had a certain proclivity for them atop his sundaes and milkshakes whenever they visited the diner a couple blocks away).  

“Listen to it again, Rogers.  Pay attention,” Stark said, and Jarvis played it once more.  Where Steve had once found comfort and solace in teh familiarity of the big band noise, suddenly everything seemed to have a double meaning he’d never considered before, yet apart from being vulgar it was … interesting.  Was Tony well versed in all of these euphemisms?  He guessed so, even catching the brunnette muttering the lyrics beneath his breath, fingers drumming out the beat on the surface of his workbench.  

Well, how the hell had he missed the singer waxing poetic about  _‘_ _He’s a one stop shop with a real big uh?’_

The song finished and Stark, once more, turned to Steve with a wide, “I told you so” smile.  “Still think it’s so innocent, spangles?”  He asked, voice thick with gloating and eyes bright, grating Steve’s nerves.  Did he really have to rub it in his face like that?  

“Okay, so you were right—.”

“What?  Didn’t hear—mmf.”

Steve grabbed him by the collar and silenced him with his lips, one arm wrapped around the tense inventor’s waist until the man finally relaxed into his hold, swinging one arm around to wrap around his shoulders.  

_‘Lips like sugar cane, indeed.’_

They pulled away to breathe far too quickly, both of them flushed and Tony’s eyes hooded.  Steve gave a low, almost embarrassed laugh, bringing one of his arms back to rub the back of his neck.  

“Sorry, I should’ve asked before, ah, yeah.  Sorry.”  He sounded flustered, felt the heat intensifying in his cheeks, but Stark didn’t seem to notice, too busy asking Jarvis to switch to the fourth track, and if he’d found himself familiar with the quick pace of the first second, the sultry trill of the trumpets and the deeper croon of the singer sent chills up Steve’s spine as Tony looked ready to eat him alive.  

“If Candyman got you excited, can’t wait till you hear this one,” he purred, closing the space between them again in another, far slower kiss, drawing it out and sucking on Steve’s lower lip until Steve felt his head spin.  So much better than all the talking.   


	18. Thortasha + Vodka prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted my tumblr asking for Nat introducing Thor to vodka! Enjoy :D

Natasha prompted Thor with the bottle, her full lips pulled into a grin as the Asgardian took it without question, having asked her for the best liquor she could’ve advised.  Tony was in full swing of throwing a party that both of them were rather eager to escape—Natasha not quite one for the crowds, not when she was still getting more than her fair share of attentions since Manhattan, and Thor, for once, not in the mood for partying.  He’d followed her upstairs to her own private floor, reasoned from Tony for the sole fact that she wanted it all to herself, and he wasn’t about to tell her no.  So there they sat, Thor tipping back the bottle of Grey Goose and guzzling at least a third of it before drawing breath, pulling the bottle from his lips with a delighted smack.  

"Good, isn’t it?" Natasha asked, a vodka and tonic already mixed and in front of her, the slice of lime dropped into the bubbling water for the added flavor.  

Thor grinned.  ”You call this liquor?  There’s hardly a burn to it.”

Natasha just grinned.  ”Well then, the rest of the bottle is all yours then, big guy, if you think it isn’t such a big deal.  I’m sure you can take it.”

It hardly took an hour later before he was grinning over at her, listening to her regale him with a story of her latest mission, how easily she’d fooled the imbecile at the HYDRA facility into thinking that she was the newest recruit, how she’d gotten past their lackluster facility security, and stolen away with the secrets in record time.  

"You are exquisite," he muttered to her, his cheeks flushed more than she’d seen in some time, eyes slightly glazed as he gave her a slow, less than subtle up-down.  Somewhere in her gut she felt heat pool, her breath catching in her throat for half a second.  

"It was child’s play," she said, taking another sip of her own drink.  While it may not have affected her as the whole bottle of vodka had to Thor, the warmth of it fed into her chest and loosened her limbs without issue, so that when Thor leaned over to press his warm lips against hers, still tasting of the high class liquor, she molded right against him without issue, moaning as he licked into her mouth.  One of his large hands cupped the back of her neck, holding her there with such force that goosebumps rose on her skin, while his other one maneuvered her onto his lap without much issue.  She wasn’t complaining, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he kissed her harder, Natasha opening for him and whimpering as he pulled away, dragging lazy kisses down her jawline and throat, his beard scratching her skin in the most delicious of ways, whispering her name against her skin

"Hng, Thor," she gasped as he bit at her throat.  "Bedroom, c’mon big boy," she grinned, slithering out of his lap and getting to her feet.  Her knees were weak and her head spun at the combination of heady drink and how surprisingly soft his lips had been against hers.  He followed her without question, fingers threaded with hers, and with the loud music pounding through all floors of the tower no one paid any attentions to the screams and shouts of pleasure coming from her room, nor the rumble of thunder and flashes of lightning that lit the before clear autumn sky. 


	19. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by how close Cap and Nat seem to be in the newest movie. Loki's not too thrilled by how much Natasha is willing to tell Steve, and though he knows better than to assume he holds all the cards in their relationship he seeks out an answer that Nat isn't quite sure she's ready to give.

It barely took her half a step to realize that something was wrong.  The lights were all out in the safe house she’d been taking residence in for the past couple weeks, just to get out and away from the guys at the tower.  She’d taken the leaf out of Steve’s book, if truth be told, having visited his own Brownstone in the heart of Brooklyn a couple times as they worked on the Winter Soldier case, the pair of them having spent quite a bit of time going over what the man’s motives might’ve been, who the next target was, and though Nat hated to go back and delve through her own less than perfect history, it seemed Steve might’ve been the perfect one to do it with.  He was never judgemental, let her take her time until she was comfortable enough to divulge what she decided to, and very rarely asked her to continue when she seemed to be finished.  It wasn’t his truth to know, he’d once told her when she thanked him for being so courteous about it, and he always insisted he was honored by how much she trusted him to tell him what she did.  No matter if the mission was dependent on the information, he was always grateful for the new information.

Loki, as ever, was not as understanding.  

He sat in the living room, his eyes bright enough to catch her gaze before she flicked on the landing light, one of her eyebrows cocking.  “Y’know, you don’t have to sit in the dark.  We’ve invented this amazing thing called lightbulbs,” she snarked without missing a beat, setting her training bag down at the door as she toed off her shoes and gave a small stretch to release the kinks from her back.  He didn’t move from her spot as she moved through towards the kitchen, itching to fix herself a vodka martini, the grey goose in the freezer singing to her since she’d been off duty.  

“You were at his house again,” Loki’s voice came from behind her, and it was a credit to how well she’d been trained in those year in Russia that she didn’t jump, only removed the iced-over bottle of liquor from the depths of her freezer and twisted on her heel to come, face to face, with the green-clad demigod, his eyes staring down and into her as though he thought to blaze through her soul and leave his mark, searing, in her flesh.  

“Yes.  We work together.  Funny how I have an excuse and you . . . oh wait.  You just show up,” she said, pushing past him with ease to get to the opposite side of the room and grab a martini glass.  “So while you’re here be a dear and grab me some of the olives from the fridge?”  She might as well put him to use, right?  

He didn’t move, and she hadn’t expected him to, his glare deepening as he stared her down.  She kept her walls up when he stared at her, feeling herself pull in on herself.  What did he expect?  They’d been fucking the past few days, certainly, but he didn’t own her.  She’d made no promises to sleep with him and him alone, and while she and Rogers hadn’t done anything outside of literally sleeping within the same bed Loki seemed to be of the mind that--well, God only knew what he was ever thinking, really.  She sighed and, after fixing herself her drink, she sat down at the table and took a long sip from it, feeling the deepest reaches of her marrow heat up as the alcohol swept through her, sweeter than anything else she’d known, save perhaps a good fuck or emptying a clip of new ammo into a training dummy.  Or a certain demigod that wouldn’t stop staring her down.  

“Why do you go to him so often when you could come to me?” He asked, leaning against the refrigerator with his arms wrapped tight around his chest, his lips pursed tight.  

Nat tried not to snort.  “What the hell are you talking about?  I return here, don’t I?  I don’t stay over there unless I’m working.”  What more did he want from her?  A marriage pledge?  She took another drink, long, savoring the subtle flavor of the vodka on her tongue, eyes closing to enjoy her drink before opening them once more to watch how the muscle in Loki’s left cheek twitched with irritation, his hands tight enough to whiten his knuckles as he clenched his arms.  

“You refuse to open up to me, yet you divulge everything to him.”  He said, and ah, there was the crux of it Natasha supposed as she let out a low sigh.  Right.  She was getting slow if it took her that long to determine his true motive behind the moodiness, his jealousy bubbling bright in his eyes and thrumming with every jerk of his muscle.  Damn her for not having guessed it and nipped it in the bud the moment she came home.  

“I’m not replacing you, if that’s what you think--.”

“You’ve yet to even consider sharing half of the information with me as you do with him.”  He cut.

She narrowed her eyes, body going very still.  “You shouldn’t be spying on me.”

“I shouldn’t have to be afraid of you going off with your _captain_ behind my back,” he snarled.  

She sprang into action not half a second once the words were from his mouth, his black hair curling around his head as he stared up at her, her foot at his throat her teeth gritted as she stared down at him and applied further pressure.  He tipped his chin upwards, giving her better access to his throat, and she’d lie if she said she didn’t suppress a shudder of appreciation for how well she’d trained him.  Good boy.  

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Loki,” she said, and her voice was so quiet that she knew, had it not been for his exceptional hearing, he wouldn’t have heard the tremor in her voice that the low volume so cleverly hid, the slight vibration that betrayed how she felt about his submission.  Though she cleared her throat it didn’t stop, and she pressed all the harder on his throat for it until his breathing turned shallow.  “I make no promises for what I do on missions, but with Steve he needs to know certain things about my past.  Certain instances I’m not wholly comfortable discussing with you just yet.  You haven’t earned my trust.” She admitted, and the slight glaze on his eyes passed, his new, acute understanding heightening his senses.  His lips parted but she shook her head as she pulled her foot away from him, watched as he took a full breath and his chest expanded.  His skin was red and ruddy where she’d put her foot on it and she smirked to think of how the flush had likely spread down his chest and shoulders, catching sight of the reddened skin on his ears, the stain a sign of his arousal as surely as the tremor of her words and thrum between her thighs was of hers.  

“How do you expect me not to be jealous when you do not offer me the same opportunities as your captain?” He asked, voice hoarse with arousal and from the abuse she’d put it through.  “I am not a fellow in arms, granted with the opportunity to work alongside you, therefore have no chance at garnering your trust--.”

“Find a way.  Your excuses don’t interest me, Loki,” she said, and turning on her heel she made her way towards the bedroom.  

He followed not half a second later, eager to make up for his mistake.  She needed time, she supposed, as she watched him genuflect that evening, begging her forgiveness with every flex of his muscle as he laid between her thighs, tongue lapping at her cunt until she gasped with release and stars shone behind her eyes, his own hands bound behind his back by the black belt of her catsuit, keeping him firmly in place.  Even as he laid on his back not moments later, Natasha riding him at her leisure, he kept his every muscle taut and his words pleading, though he asked for her forgiveness rather than release.  He’d never rush the ecstasy that had become theirs, the steady give and take of power, the thought that one day he might be worthy of her trust and her confidence.  It helped to keep him coming back, she supposed as her body arched with her second climax, his back bowing and nerves succumbing to pleasure only when she allowed him to, and she’d hold on to that power for as long as she was able.  

 

 


	20. Gathered All I Had - Romanrogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve can't believe that Natasha's never thrown a football before, and Nat's not about to give up any opportunity to have Steve Rogers' body pressed close to hers.  
> Mild Winter Soldier spoilers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just kinda popped into my head and it was way too cute to pass up writing. Enjoy!

Steve couldn’t believe it when she’d told him that she had never played football, or even so much as held one in her hand.  They’d been relaxing in his newly recovered apartment, Steve having put down his book to look longingly at the spring day, and had made an offhand comment about missing the times when he and Buck had played pass the pigskin when they were growing up.  Buck had always been good at not throwing too hard, while Steve, scrawny guy that he was, had had to put everything he’d had into it so that the ball would even make it near his best friend.  It’d never lasted long, but it’d always been fun.  Nat smiled over at him as he reminisced before giving the offhand comment that had brought the super soldier to his feet, eyes disbelieving as he shrugged on his jacket and explained to her that he was gonna teach her a thing or two about it.  

He’d insisted on walking to the nearest park, at least a half an hour away by foot, not that Nat minded, and with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, the football under the other, she found that she was smiling easier than she had in some time.  Certainly easier than it had been since the madness with SHIELD and the Winter Soldier.  As they walked he regaled her with stories of when he and Bucky had gotten into a scrap because some of the bigger neighborhood boys had stolen their football, and Steve, never knowing when to back down, had gotten his backside handed to him by the ring leader.  Bucky had blackened the kids eye for beating on Steve, and in the commotion that followed Steve managed to snag the football and the two had gotten away before the others realized what had happened.  

Bucky’s ma had called him a great fool for that as she’d pressed a pack of ice to his swollen eye, Steve having stayed over with them while his own mother worked a double, but that night, after she’d gone to bed and the pair of them had bunked out on the floor, the threadbare cushions sinking beneath their familiar weight, they’d recounted the victory.  Steve had considered his smarting eye a sort of battle scar, and Bucky, grin full teeth and pride, hadn’t corrected him.  

The park was kids too young to go to school, their mothers or nanny’s having brought them out to enjoy the sunshine and the surprisingly warm weather, and their cries of joy as they played on the swings, slides, and in the sand filled the warm breeze.  It reminded Nat of summertime, and she shrugged off the coat she’d thought she might need as they came to a small clearing.  Steve did the same, tossing it to the ground before stepping closer to Nat.  She found her breath subconsciously catching in her throat as he stood behind her.  

“Can I?” He asked, voice quiet, looking unsure.  Always the gentleman.  

She shrugged, playing it off.  “Sure.”

His wide hands found her hips and gently situated them, and though she checked in the corner of his eye there wasn’t the faintest trace of a blush in sight as he squared her shoulders, murmured for her to bend her knees slightly, and adjusted her arms.  His warm hands covered hers on the ball, slotting them into position, and she tried not to focus on how hot the day suddenly had become.  And where was that drumming coming from?

Oh.  Her chest.  That made sense.  

His hips aligned with hers as he brought her hand back, lips brushing against her ears as he took her through the motion she’d need to make, how to snap her wrist so that the ball would get a better spin on it, and how the rest of her body would need to move with it.  They practiced the motion a couple more times until it no longer felt so foreign, and on the fifth pass her murmured for her to let it go.  The ball sailed from her fingertips only to drop a couple yards away.  She snorted.  

“Well that was anticlimactic,” she teased, grinning back at him and glad to find that he was smiling as well.  She tried not to look too disappointed when he pulled away from her to go grab the ball, tossing it back to her.  She watched the ball perfectly spiral towards her, all but landing in her hands without her having to do much.  Damn.  

“You know, you make it really difficult to learn new things when you’re so perfect at it all,” she teased, trying to replicate the same position he’d shown her before.  This time it flew a little farther before dropping down, Steve only having to move a little ways to get it.  His laugh lifted her spirits.  

“Yeah, well it didn’t always used to be like that,” he reminded her with an easy grin and another pass.  He told her to go long, and when she looked confused he snorted and filled her in on the term, chucking the ball so she had to sprint in order to catch it.  They were at least fifty or so yards away, and she blinked a couple times.  Well, it was do or die time she supposed, grasping the ball once more and throwing it with as much force as she could muster.  If nothing else at least she was strong, but the spin on the ball was decent enough, and Steve only had to veer a little to the left in order to catch it.  

“Nice!”  He complimented, voice carrying on the light breeze.  “Knew you could do it.”

She rolled her eyes, but inside she glowed at the compliment.  They kept going for the next hour or so until Nat’s arm began to ache and Steve called it a day, grinning and wiping his forehead.  Nat tried not to stare at the way his shirt had begun to cling, secretly pleased that they’d stopped before she had to work to stop focusing on the definition beneath.  It didn’t matter that she’d seen him in his suit, and that it fit him like a glove with little left to the imagination.  There was something about seeing him in his civvies, sweating and grinning like an every-day Joe, hanging out in the park and throwing the football, that got her heart beating a little bit faster, heated her blood up just a little more.  She had to pull herself out of her own head as he offered to pay for lunch, promising the best she’d ever had at a diner that’d been around since he and Bucky had been kids, and this time his arm wrapped around her waist to hold her close as they walked down the street, jackets slung over their back, Steve’s body warm and comfortable and perfect against hers.  

 

 


	21. Snowed In - Blackfrost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Thats-right-skip on Tumblr. Thank you!

Natasha scowled as she looked over at the still falling snow, though the piles had already cleared the windows in the small cottage she and Loki had gotten themselves stuck in.  The coffee in her hands was warm, at least, as was the fire that she’d started a little while ago, the dancing, pleasantly crackling flames mocking her in their cheerfulness.  Loki was reading a book in the furthest chair away from it, not needing the heat as much as Nat did, the spider all cozy in her thickly knitted blanket.  She knew that a storm had been coming, but hadn’t been anticipating it to be this fucking long.  Three days was damn excessive.  

For what felt like the hundreth time she looked over at Loki.  

"Aren’t you a frost giant?  Can’t you do something?"

"Even I am powerless over the weather.  You need my brother for that," he told her, not looking up from the book.  

Guh.  Fucking gods with their inability to fucking stop the weather.  She took another sip of her coffee, as bitter as the thick, warm liquid, before shooting one more appraising look at Loki.  

"Want to pass the time in a much more productive way?" She asked, a mark of how bored she really was if she was looking to get her kicks off like that.  But he’d already worked his way through the pathetic excuse for the cottage’s library, and dammit Nat was  _bored._ He looked up at her over the book, and Nat marked that down as a victory, not having been able to get him to the last few times she’d talked to him.  

"Alright," he said, putting the book down and already shrugging his shirt off.  Nat allowed herself half a minute to appraise what she had to work with—and damn was it glorious—before she grinned and set the coffee mug down.  Well, it beat glaring out the window for the next whoever knew how long.


	22. Fake Married - Blackfrost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted on Tumblr by thats-brilliant-skip. Thanks!

"You’re the worst at these things," Nat grimaced as she pulled out the earrings she’d been forced to wear for probably the most boring dinner party she’d been required to go to.  Honestly, if she’d given herself a lobotamy she’d have had more fun than listening to the wife’s fundraiser plans for her husband’s "budding political career."  The poor fool had no idea that his concept of politics was buying out the competition and then selling the secrets to pay for the woman’s botox injections.  

"What was I supposed to do when he had clearly no concept of what he was doing?"  Loki asked, removing his tie with ease before throwing it to the side.  "Honestly if you’re going to cheat someone at least be clever about it."

"We’re supposed to be finding out about his criminal behavior to catch him, not aiding him," Nat rolled her eyes, shimmying out of the deep red dress.  

"Why not?  If we know about his habits he will be easier to catch," Loki said, slipping his shirt off and hanging it up with the snap of his fingers before his pants joined them, and he slipped into bed without so much as a second thought.  Nat sat in front of the boudoir and brushed out her hair, catching his green eyes in the mirror.  Good.  Now he was thinking like a field agent.  

"Because, darling," she crooned.  "If he rips off more people before we can get enough evidence to bring him in Fury will have my head, and yours once I tell him who it was that gave the bastard the ideas."

Loki smirked.  ”You worry too much, love,” he purred, and half a moment later he got out of bed and made his way closer.  His hands, cool to the touch, found her bare shoulders and massaged.  She stopped what she was doing and gave a soft moan.  Damn him.  ”You need to loosen up, learn to be more flexible.” 

At least some good had come from this assignment.

"Get into bed and I’ll show you how flexible I can be," she gave a soft growl as she met his eyes in the mirror.  His lips widened into a slash of a grin and he pressed his lips to the back of her head before doing just that.  She took her sweet time, not afraid to keep him in anticipation.


	23. ThorLoki - Handcuffed together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on Tumblr. Hints of Blackfrost and Thor/Jane. Thanks very much!

Loki growled as he struggled to shift his wrist out of the cuff, the magicked metal biting into his skin and repressing his magic at the same time.  Fucking Strange letting his invention get into the wrong hands—if he ever got out of these and managed to wrap his hands around the man’s throat he’d never let go, Valhallah help him—.

"You’re struggling too much," Thor growled, the pair of them having been, admittedly, blindsided while arguing.  They sat in an empty warehouse, back to back and wrist to wrist thanks to the stolen cuffs.  Where their captor was was nothing but an enormous question mark.  "Stop squirming so much, rotate your hands, and you’ll get out far easier."

"You try and stop getting out of handcuffs when you know you’re keeping Agent Romanov waiting.  You think she handles being almost stood up well?"  Loki blanched.  He wasn’t looking forward to it, certainly.  They were supposed to have been back from the side mission two hours ago, which meant he only had forty-five minutes until he had to meet Natasha at the restaurant.  She’d be furious if she found out why he was detained.  

Thor snorted.  ”You aren’t the only one with plans.  Jane and I were to meet for a movie.  I think being late for a dinner is acceptable, while late for a movie?  This was supposed to be a celebration of our anniversary—.”

"Shut up, I don’t want to hear it, just pull them apart," Loki snarled, already struggling to do the same.  They wouldn’t break, however, and time was ticking.  

"We could try walking?" Thor offered.  

"You really are an idiot," Loki snarled as he rolled his eyes and slumped a little.  Fuck.  He was so dead when—if—he ever got out.  


	24. Avengers+Loki Truth or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on Tumblr, hinted blackfrost. Thanks for the prompt!

"Loki, have you ever taken a body shot?" Tony grinned as he took a deep drink, the two fingers of whiskey going right to his head, joining the half a bottle already churning around and heating his veins.  The god looked puzzled at the term, and it must’ve been the bottle and a third he’d already consumed because Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen the man look so lost.  

"I’m not sure … a what?"

"Body Shot.  I dare you to take one of your liquor of choice from Natasha," he grinned, pointing at the spy, who was nursing her half bottle of Grey Goose, looking a little more heated than normal.  The others all giggled, each in various states of drunken bliss save Steve, who was more or less a mother hen when it came to games of Truth or Dare, anyway, and even Thor seemed to know what was going on.  

"Jane had me try it once.  It was rather enjoyable," he said with a wide grin on his face that Loki scowled at.  He didn’t like not knowing, and Stark reveled in it.  Good.  It meant he’d accept it; he didn’t like not knowing something that Thor did, and Stark could’ve kissed the god for provoking his brother, even if it was by accident.  

Hell the night was young and he still had quite a bit of liquor to go, he just might.  

"Madam Romanov, if you would."  

"Hate you, Stark."

No she didn’t.  She’d been making goo-goo eyes at Loki for as long as she’d been drinking.  Really, she owed him, even as she laid back and pulled the hem of her shirt upwards.  Tony, taking the bottle of Asgardian wine that Loki had insisted on drinking, poured a small amount into her navel and grinned as Loki’s eyes went wide as silver-dollars.  

"You get to drink it up, buddy boy," Tony grinned, watching how Nat shivered from the chill of the liquid, her body struggling to warm it up.  

Licking his lips, Loki moved to straddle Natasha’s legs, his own movements slightly clumsier than they ought to have been, but there was nothing sloppy about the way he sucked out the pooled drink, nor the way she moaned at the sensation of his warm lips on her skin.  

Well shit.  Next time, Tony thought as he sat back on his haunches, he might as well have dared them to fuck.  That’d be a hell of a night to remember.  

Loki sucked on his bottom lip as he pulled away from her, forcing himself to turn his attention to Tony once more.  

"I dare you to get into the Iron Man suit, without any of the protective underclothing that you wear.  Without any clothing at all."  Loki said, his smile vindictive.  Tony glowered.  Oh, that was a low blow—he knew how it chaffed with his under suit on!  And taking it off already sucked and just—.

"Hate you." 

Natasha’s laugh rang in his ears as he stripped and took the walk of shame to the lab, not looking forward to it at all.  


	25. College AU - WinterWidow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by agentavengerassassin on Tumblr. Thanks so much, dear!

Well hell, Steve’s roommate wasn’t supposed to be  _hot._ She’d gotten partnered up with the blond for a project in their COM 234 class, and though he’d offered to work in his room because his roommate was supposed to be out all night, allowing them to get work done without being distracted as her own was currently in the middle of riding her boyfriend, the proverbial Bucky had shown up, hair dripping wet and towel draped around his hips, stopping to look at where Nat and Steve were bent over their homework, Nat looking up out of reflex and feeling her heart stutter slightly.  

Well shit.  Rogers wasn’t the only one who was a sight for sore eyes.  Bucky grinned and waved, and even Steve looked surprised.  

"Didn’t think you’d be home tonight—thought you were gonna go to Sam’s for the party?"

"Thinking I’d go later.  The freshmen initiation or whatever is early and I’d rather not see a bunch of greenhorns puke up all the Burnetts and Stoli I saw Sam and the others buy."  Bucky said with a shrug that made Natasha’s eyes travel to his strong shoulders as Steve let out a low sigh.  How easy would it be to run her nails across his pale skin and watch them redden beneath her attention—.

No.  Project first, possible fuckbuddy later.  That would be her reward, she supposed, for being a good girl and doing her damn homework.

"Right.  Sorry—Natasha this is James, but he prefers Bucky."  Steve said, his manners coming to light, and with his left hand securing the towel around his waist (because wouldn’t  _that_ be a shame if it fell?) he extended his right.  

"Nice to meet you, Nat,"

"You too, Bucky," she said, rising a little to take it.  He held on for maybe a little longer than strictly necessary, and she didn’t pull away until he did.  

"Right, well I’ll let you two get back to working.  Have fun, and if you get done soon enough maybe you guys can come to Sam’s with me."


	26. Snowed In - Stucky/Starbucks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon on Tumblr. Thanks so much! First time ever writing these two, so I hope it turned out a-okay

He’d thought a weekend away would be just what they needed.  It hadn’t been easy for Bucky coming back from all that … well, they didn’t really talk about it much, Steve out of respect for Bucky’s memories and personal needs, but a weekend at a cottage that Steve had rented, up, away from civilization, from the insanity of the Avengers and a New York neither of them was really comfortable with had sounded perfect.  

He hadn’t anticipated that they’d get so much damn snow this late in April, certainly not enough to keep them inside for the past few days.  Hell, they’d be lucky if they didn’t need to call Stark to somehow get them out of there.  Steve didn’t want to think about the man’s gloating face, though, the billionaire having been smug as all get out as he’d watched Steve pack for the weekend.  To see him again so soon, and to need his help?  

Pride might be the death of him, but he’d be damned if he subjected himself or Bucky to Stark’s asinine comments for longer than he had to.  

He shifted in the bed, feeling the familiar warmth and weight of the man beside him.  They’d slept next to one another before in the past, growing up and spending far too much time at one another’s house, but it felt, well, different.  There was a ghost between them, no matter how Steve tried to deny that no, his feelings hadn’t changed for the man.  Yes, he’d always love him.  Yes, he’d always be there for him.  

Yet there was at least half an inch of space and a weekend worth of things unsaid between the two of them, and Steve didn’t budge from his spot, not wanting to put himself where he wasn’t wanted.  

He didn’t expect the metal fingers of his best friend’s arm to slowly reach out towards him, take his own hand, and thread his fingers.  

"You’re thinking again," Bucky’s voice was muffled by the pillow, but he tipped his head to the side to look at Steve, and in that moment the ghost disappeared, faded into the cold dark of the room, no longer having room on the bed, or anywhere between these two.  

"No I wasn’t."

"Steve it’s so loud it near woke me up.  C’mere."  

He slotted himself, with some difficulty, into Bucky’s arms as his best friend shifted to wrap both arms around him, nose digging into Steve’s throat as he breathed in deep.  

"Always told you to leave the thinking to me," he teased.  "You can be the brawn so long as I can be the brain."

He’d never told Steve that he remembered that, the joke having always put a smile on Steve’s face when he’d gotten picked on for being so damn scrawny and Bucky had come to his rescue.  Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he managed to twist his body just enough to press a hard, bruising kiss to Bucky’s lips.  The brunette paused, then kissed back, unafraid for once since they’d been there, holding Steve tight enough to squeeze the life out of him, hard enough to remind himself and his frazzled brain that it was happening.  Steve could live with bruises so long as he had Bucky, always could, always would.  


	27. Bodyswap/Secretly a virgin - Blackfrost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on Tumblr--thanks for the prompt! Hope this makes sense, the pronouns got a little wonky, but I tried!

Natasha’s—or rather Loki’s, thanks to that piece of crap spell that got reversed on them—body twitched as Loki slotted her own body against his, cheeks going red as Nat looked down at herself, realizing just how truly short she was.  Honestly.  How did she get anything done?  

Loki just grinned up at her, the smile strange on Nat’s own face, stretching her cheeks until they were so wide it was a miracle the skin didn’t crack.  

"So.  This is what it’s like to be you."  

God, as if things couldn’t get stranger, hearing her voice was definitely going to throw her off, and even more so when Loki’s hand ran across Natasha’s crotch, grinning at the way that Nat spasmed again.  

"You know, I’ve never been with anyone before?"  Loki was asking, snaking her hand down Natasha’s trousers with such ease it was a miracle.  Natasha’s eyes widened as the pleasure and excitement rolled around in her stomach, enough to make her want to throw up and throw Loki down on the bed in front of her.  

"Really?" Natasha gasped as Loki took his own body into hand and squeezed.  His body certainly acted like it, and Nat bit back a swore in Loki’s voice as the pleasure blossomed strong and heady in her veins.  

"Nope."  Loki sing-songed, the words far too cheery to be coming from Natasha’s body.  "Wanna change that?"

If he kept it up, yes, yes she did.  ”You’re sure you don’t want to—ah—find out what it’s like?” She asked, already crowding her own body towards the bed either way, Loki’s hand still massaging her until she felt—oh God that was weird—herself thickening and hardening, tenting the pants uncomfortably.  She felt a strange sense of understanding, now, about why Steve always excused himself when Stark teased him.  This was damn strange.  

"Nah.  I don’t want to be blamed if I spill too easily," Loki said, and this grin was far more familiar, all teeth and knowing, born of a familiarity with just how well Natasha’s body could be used to garner whatever sort of strong reaction desired.  

She was in for a hell of a night.


	28. Bodyswap ThorLoki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brotp bodyswap prompted by Anon on tumblr--thanks so much!

"I don’t look like that you fool!" Thor snapped.  "Not when I’m trying to be normal, norns you are such an idiot!" 

"Don’t take your aggression out on me, Loki," Loki snapped, his voice struggling to take a deeper tone as he stood up to his full, considerable height.  Even without having the normal bulk of Thor, he seemed to almost take up too much space.  "It was your foolish spell that rebounded."

"You cannot  _call_ me that, oaf!” Thor snarled, jabbing a finger into Loki’s chest and finding it pleasantly solid.  Good to know that all that time training with Romanov had paid off in more ways than one.  ”Now, you have to act  _normally_ until I can figure out a way to reverse it.”

"What sort of sorcerer cannot undo his tricks?" Loki bit, brooding again.  That made Thor smirk.  

"Well at least you’re getting a little better at mimicking me.  I got the easy bit, all I need to do is look like an imbecile and your Avengers will be none the wiser."

The punch that knocked into his jaw hurt, surprisingly, less than he imagined.  Perhaps he ought to train more, as he exercised the vast strength his brother had in spades and returned the favor, sending his body to the ground.  He’d regret that when they changed bodies, but at least he was true to character in returning the fire.  

"Idiot, I don’t attack like that."  Thor rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to his back, left leg so that the other was slightly pointed outward.  

"And I don’t stand like that.  This goes both ways," Loki growled from the floor, picking himself back up and rubbing at the already purpling bruise.  Whoops.  This was a disaster, and the knock on the door, followed by Nat’s voice calling out to Loki proved it would only get worse.  Before Loki could go to open the door, Thor shot out a hand and grabbed him, not enjoying how slow the form was but very much so his brother’s strength.  

"Don’t even think about sleeping with her," Thor growled as his grip tightened.  

Why he’d opened his mouth was beyond him, as the beauty of the idea glanced across Loki’s face plain as daylight.  He could only hope, with Thor doing such a poor job of imitating himself, that Natasha would see right through it.  

And that she’d not act on it anyway to spite him for something stupid he’d undoubtedly done.  


	29. Angry One-sided Blackfrost prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who wanted Loki to adore how angry Natasha got at him, I present this to you! Hope you like!

“God DAMMIT!” Natasha shouted as Loki tried not to snort from behind his book, biting his bottom lip hard to keep his expression serious.  

_‘3 . . . 2 . . . 1. . .’_

The door to his room slammed open and Loki looked innocently upwards as Natasha, pink haired and in a bright pink catsuit, snarled over at him.  “What the  _FUCK_  is your problem!?” She demanded, throwing a knife at his face.  He barely missed it, though the headboard of his bed showed all the other times that she’d tried.  She fumed as she stood in front of him, her eyes narrowed with disgust while he simply arched an eyebrow.  

“My problem?  I’m certain I do not have any idea what you mean--.”

“Really?  No idea?”  She asked with a roll of her eyes.  He might have slipped something into her drink, as well, to make her emotions a little stronger than normal.  It was worth a look into, and he couldn’t help but love getting her angry.  There was just something endearing about the way she would snarl at him, her cheeks would flush with her rage, occasionally she’d lash out.  Those were the fun parts, he couldn’t help but admit, and Natasha with pink hair and a matching outfit?  She was furious.  

He couldn’t get enough.  

What she was saying he couldn’t have cared about, too busy watching her eyes get glassy with her frustration, watching how her full lips moved around her angry words, and well . . . he adored every moment of it.  

“Change.  Me.  Back.”  She demanded, and her body went tense as he got up and stepped closer.  Her jaw clenched and her chin jerked upwards.  “Now.”

“Ask me nicely,” he purred, twirling one of her bubblegum pink strands around his finger.  She slapped his hand away, then shoved her fist into his gut.  Hard.  He doubled over and laughed, the pain making him feel far more alive than he had in some time.  He caught her hand the next time she lashed out at him and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it just as her knee came up to slam into his abdomen.  

“ _NOW_!”

Of all the women he’d ever met, he’d never met one whose voice  _didn’t_  get shrill when she was angry, and if anything Natasha’s grew even sexier.  Ah.  That was wonderful.  

“Very well,” he said, and with the snap of his fingers everything changed back to normal, her hair altered to its natural (perhaps?) red hue, the catsuit black, and her eyes going near blank as she controlled her emotions.  

“You know, your sadomasochistic tendencies could be used on anyone  _other_  than me and my feelings wouldn’t be hurt.  At all,” she deadpanned, her eyes narrowing, before she stamped hard on his foot and rammed the heel of her palm into his nose, breaking it satisfactorily before she left.  He stemmed the blood flow and once the door closed behind her he dissolved into laughter.  Perfect.  If he’d known that the color would trigger such a response he’d have done it weeks ago.  

Might do it again soon enough.  There was nothing else to do.  


	30. Sifki Earring Prompt Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who wanted Loki getting Sif earrings every year for her birthday, I present this drabble and hope you enjoy it!

“Loki,” her eyes were enormous as she stared up at him, her mouth wide and her expression shocked.  Awe-stuck, even, as the jewelry in her hands shifted with the rest of her, catching the last rays of sun, casting rainbows in her hands.  “These are lovely.  I can’t accept them.”

He waved a hand at the gesture, as though obtaining them was nothing.  Truth be told the jeweler who sold them would probably be missing them soon enough, but he had little care for that.  Sif had been distraught when she’d lost her mother’s earrings just two days prior, the studs having fallen out when she and Thor were training earlier in the morning.  Her brown eyes had flooded with tears and not even Loki’s magic had been able to find them, the searching teenagers unsure whether she’d dropped them while training or before.  Loki had never seen Sif back down from anything, not since she began her training to be a warrior for Asgard, a path determined to kick her to the ground and force her back to her feet, but as she left the training field that day to face her mother, the earrings lost to goodness knew where, he’d watched her shiver and shake with her fear of what her mother would say.  

Now, with the new earrings in hand, she’d be able to repay her mother for the ones lost.  She’d sported the look of one who’d gone through Helheim and back the day before, but now?  Now she looked unsure, as though expecting the diamonds to fall from her fingertips at any moment, adding further injury to the truth that she’d lost her mother’s belongings.  

“Of course you can,” he said and his lips spread into a wide, toothy grin, his hand moving to close hers around the earrings.  She was trembling again.  “Give them to your mother.  Tell them you’re sorry and that you worked to get these back to repay her for the ones that you lost.  They’re worth far more than the others, she’ll accept them.”

“Yes but I can’t.  I didn’t do anything for them,” she said.  “It wouldn’t be right.”

“Since when has that mattered?”  He asked, trying not to snort.  That had never stopped him before and he couldn’t see why it would stop her now.  It got her out of trouble, didn’t it?  “Take them, Sif.  They’re yours.  I can’t give them back.”  

No sooner had the words left his lips than her own had moved to press to his cheek, Sif having to stand on tip toe in order to make it.  “Thank you, Loki,” she said after she pulled away, and her eyes sparkled like the dark amber Loki had seen the dwarves peddle in the streets of Asgard, before she turned to run back home.  

“You’re welcome.  Happy birthday,” he whispered, the words leaving him after she’d disappeared, his mouth too dry to make them any louder.  

 

It became a sort of unspoken ritual between the pair of them.  He never offered them to her directly as he had the first time, and instead the small boxes would show up, wrapped in green bows, in her room for every birthday.  He never confronted her about them, and she never thanked him personally.  They were far beyond that, adults now, sparring with words and weapons, and each going their own separate ways, Loki as the second son of the king, Sif as a warrior in Odin’s guard.  There was little frivolity expected of them, and besides as Thor grew with them Loki became increasingly aware of how fond his big brother was of the warrior maiden.  Not that Loki could blame him.  

But no matter how many chalices or swords or knives that his brother heaped upon Sif every year for her name day, she wore Loki’s earrings first, and he would let her catch his eye and share a smile with her, just the two of them.  It was enough, he promised himself.  It would have to be.  

 

She didn’t allow herself to mourn with the others when he fell, choosing to partake in little of the food laid out for his ceremonial mourning feast, her heart too heavy to consider eating.  How could food console her when he had gone, had left her in such a way?  She’d heard from Thor about how he fell, proclaiming to Odin that all he’d done had been for the good of the family, and she understood his desire, his want to prove himself.  Hadn’t she always seen the shadow of doubt and of desire flit across his face whenever he stood beside his brother?  She’d said it herself, he’d been jealous of Thor and what the man had done, could do, and didn’t she feel the same, bitter twinges when she was compared to one of the warriors three, or even her own brother?  

Why hadn’t she reached out to him when she’d gotten the chance?  

The remorse dug deep into her heart, and after she’d stayed as long as was expected of her at the feast, had done what she could to help the grieving queen, she excused herself, returning to her chambers.  She needed her space, needed to grieve alone, and though she might’ve gone to the training grounds to release her emotions as she best knew how it wouldn’t serve to remember Loki in that way.  

She hadn’t even realized it was her birthday yet again until the familiar green hue of Loki’s magic danced out of the corner of her eye, the earring box materializing on her bed as though it had been waiting until she arrived to appear.  

 

 


	31. Blackfrost PWP First Time Oral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Masters of Sex, Loki and Nat engaging in oral sex for Loki's first time.

Nat groaned as Loki sucked on her bottom lip, her back arching up and off the bed while his fingers worked at the buttons of her blouse.  As wound up as he was it was a miracle he didn’t rip the fabric off her body.  She almost wished he would, and bucked her hips up against his.  He shuddered, teeth catching on her throat until she whimpered.  Bucking her hips once more, she caught him with her ankles around his legs and managed to flip the both of them over, knocking the air from his lungs so he was gasping beneath her.  It was her turn for her fingers to trace their way up and down his chest, sliding under the hem of his shirt and pushing it up and over his head.  She traced the flat lines of his torso and chest with her teeth, grinning when goosebumps pebbled his skin, before her fingers moved their way down to his trousers.  His fingers reached out to grasp at her clothing, and she pulled them away, pressing them down to the bed.  

“Trust me,” she kissed the small ‘v’ of his hip bones.  “You’re going to want something to hold on to.”  

“Wha--why?”  Loki gasped, sitting up on his elbows as she undid the buckle of his pants and, with his boxers, managed to shove them down to around his knees.  His cock sprang up, hard and weeping precome enough to make her lick her lips.  

“Wh-what are you doing?” He asked, his voice going ridiculously high and worried for a moment, as though anticipating the worst.  She arched a brow as she looked over at him, read the worry and disbelief in his eyes, before sticking her tongue out and rolling it over the head of his cock.  His whole body jolted with the sensation, and it only made her smile widen.  Oh.  

“Never had anyone do this to you before?”

“Ladies on Asgard didn’t--they weren’t--Ah, fuck,” his head tipped backwards, though he stared at her still through the slits his eyes had become, unwilling to take his gaze from the way she bobbed her head over his cock, licking up the underside of it before taking him in entirely, swallowing him as easily as she might a lollipop.  He swore, hips bucking of their own accord, and she loosened her throat to allow him to do so as his hands fisted in the comforter.  Her fingers dug into his hips once he gained a decent bearing on the situation, and though she was surprised he didn’t blow his load into her mouth as soon as she engulfed him in the heat of her lips and pressure of her throat around him, she started to bob her head, eager to see what other sorts of noises she could get him to make.  It turned out stuttering wasn’t his only problem when it came to pleasure.  He keened as high-pitched as many a women Nat had slept with, her name coming quickly from his lips as he begged her over and over again to go faster, or else slow down and pay more attention to the thick vein on the underside of his cock, which she laved with her tongue.  Listening to his commands, figuring out just what made him tick, it didn’t take him long to expend himself, and though he tried warning her before it happened she simply swallowed him down along with the come he shot into her throat.  It was far cleaner that way, and the noise that he let out, half scream half shout, was entirely worth it.  He went boneless beneath her, panting and flushed from the orgasm, the color high in his cheeks as he stared down at her, blissed out.  A wash of concern broke it moments later.  

“You didn’t--.  But why?”

Nat arched a brow.  Ah, so it went both ways.  And there she was thinking that silver-tongue was simply a clever nickname that served two purposes.  Apparently not.  She leaned up to kiss him, leaving his lips to trail a line of kisses up to his ear.  

“You liked what I just did for you, didn’t you?  It felt good, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he breathed against her skin, voice ragged with ill-hidden want.  Good.  

“Then do that for me.”  She pulled away to bite at her bottom lip, watched as his eyes cleared with the understanding of what she wanted.  A slow grin crept up his face, lighting his features, as he flipped them over with ease.  

“You don’t want to be outshined by a mortal, after all, do you?”  She asked as he started kissing his way down her torso.  Now he ripped off her pants, throwing the shredded material to the side, followed shortly after by her blouse, bra, and panties--the latter she managed to save with a few quick turns of her wrist.  She’d gotten damn good at that, and she rather liked the set she’d worn that day.  His tongue suckled her breasts, one at a time, until she whimpered beneath him, before he started to move his mouth lower, tasting every inch of her body he could get to until he stopped at the finely trimmed red curls between her legs.  Tentatively, he reached his tongue out to slowly taste her from the bottom of her slit to the very top, taking note of which places made her stiffen and gasp, and bringing his tongue and lips back there to offer them more attention, more pressure and pleasure.  One of her hands found his head, tipping it upwards slighty until his tongue swirled around the small nub near the very top, putting just enough pressure on it to make her shout and buck her hips upwards.  He took that as a good sign, repeating the movement over and over again until she was writhing beneath him, her breath coming in shortened pants, legs hooking over his shoulders so that she could pin him there, grinding her cunt against his face.  He loved it, moaning nearly as loudly as she was.  

“You’re so gorgeous, Natasha,” he complimented, voice breathy, even as she begged him to keep going.  Go he did, not stopping until he felt her go rigid beneath him, tasted the warm gush of her come when he pressed his tongue inside her.  It was perfect.  After she released her legs from around him and relaxed beneath him he moved to lay beside her, kissing her deeply.  She didn’t seem to mind tasting herself on her lips any more than he did hers, and he held her all the tighter for it.  

“You’ve really never done that before?”  Nat had to ask, the last word cut off by a stray yawn.  He shook his head.  

“Never.”

“Oh I have so, so much to teach you.  Not that it wasn’t good!  But just wait.  It gets even better.”

 

 


	32. Blackfrost Father's Day prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Pancake-Sexuality, who wanted a father's day prompt with Blackfrost. As I've written something about Loki's kids and Nat before, I'm basing this one off the assumption they've all met one another. Hope you enjoy!

Natasha couldn’t keep from looking over at the small, young girl speaking with Loki in the distance, the pair of them equally animated as they explained magic that went far over Natasha’s head as her own hands ran down Sleipnir’s spine, the horse laying down on the grass beside her.  She’d offered to visit Asgard with Loki to meet with his children after having heard about Father’s Day, and though the other realm might not have shared the holiday, Nat couldn’t deny that Loki seemed to be excited and drawn in by the idea that a whole day was devoted to paying homage to a father figure.  She supposed he wanted credit where it was due, eager to get it no matter where, and the thought made her smile.  Fenrir, at her side, rested her head on her lap, amber eyes as big as her palm rolling up to look at her, huffing quietly as he watched her petting Sleipnir, then going back to try and catch her gaze.  Nat grinned, letting out a soft laugh, and with her last free hand she ran a hand through his thick fur to scratch just behind his ears.  His whine shook her whole body, the wolf at least twice her size, yet he considered himself no bigger than a pup if the way he struggled to fit more of himself on her lap said anything.  

“He likes you, you know,” Hela said, she and Loki having come to join them, cutting off her father’s would be reproachful comment to the wolf, something Nat would’ve imagined to be about being more careful.  While she appreciated it, she did have to keep reminding him she wasn’t made of glass.  Mortal, but still strong.  

“I like him, too,” Natasha assured her with an easy smile.  It was true.  “I like all of you very much.  I’m glad we’re able to take this day to spend together.”

The young girl’s lips spread into the makings of a thin smile.  “You ought to come up more often.  I’ll steal away when I can, but it’s easier for me to come here than it is for you to come visit me.”

Yes, that was true, and Natasha wasn’t quite certain she’d want to.  “You could always visit Midgard.”

Hela’s smile turned wry.  “Too many distractions.  Too many opportunities.”

Fair enough.  “Well, I’d like to see more of you.”  

Hela grinned as she took a seat on Sleipnir’s other side, Loki simply watching the two women as Hela’s hand moved to cover up Natasha’s.  “Then we’ll make it happen.  If you’re gonna be in Loki’s life for awhile, it’s best we get to be friends.”

“I’d like that.”

Fenrir’s low whine and Sleipnir’s nose against her knee told Natasha the pair of them were in agreement.  Her heart swelled as her eyes rose to meet Loki’s.  He couldn’t have looked any more relieved, any happier, and it only made the moment all that sweeter.  

“Happy Father’s day,” she mouthed as Hela turned to say something to Fenrir, the wolf responding in a series of grunts and huffs that she seemed to understand.  

His grin nearly spread off his face it went so wide, and had he looked away quicker she’d have missed the beginnings of tears in his eyes.  Wisely, she said nothing about it.  

 

 


	33. Blackfrost Self-harm prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackfrost, self-harm-esque prompt for Anon. TW for self harm, obviously

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! As requested on my tumblr, I hope this is what you're looking for! It's at least what I got out of the request =] Thanks, and enjoy!

This was the third time that they’d caught Loki, and Nat admitted she was slightly perplexed with the trickster.  What the hell was he doing?  The first time, in New York, it was plain as day to anyone that getting caught was all part of the plan, but now?  Well, now he didn’t seem to even have a plan, as though he was simply floundering around without any idea what he was doing.  She could see it in the way his eyes shifted within the cage, not the usual calm, collected trickster she was used to.  He looked worse for wear as well, more so than ever before.  None of the others had caught the scrapes and cuts on the insides of his arms, and she was willing to bet there were more everywhere else, as though he’d intentionally harmed himself or fallen particularly hard without utilizing his magic to stop him.  Why?  Self-inflicted wounds weren’t something she’d ever seen on him before, and never thought to.  

So why did he keep coming back there?

“Ah, Agent Romanov.  Back again?”  Loki asked, the fire in his eyes kindling once more as she moved into the antechamber that held his cell, another glass one, this time reinforced to protect against his magic.  

“Yes, well, I couldn’t stay away, could I?  Not when you brought the party to me.  Again.”  She shot him a wry smile that he mirrored, even if it it didn't quite meet his eyes.  What was wrong with him?  “Though I don’t think you’re quite ready to talk.  Maybe some more time in solitude--.”

“If you truly think keeping me here with your meager technology will work you are sorely mistaken,” he snapped, showing his hand without much more provocation. She paused, half of her body already turned to leave.  His eyes moved far too quickly, flitting from Nat’s still figure to the door he was certain she was going to disappear through at any moment.  Judging by how frantic the motions were he was expecting her to follow through with the threat, and Nat’s mind whirred with the new data.  How often had this same technique been used on him as a child?  Did Odin lock his sons in their rooms when they were being obstinate, or perhaps it was their mother?  For Thor she could simply imagine him growing bored and sleeping, but Loki?  He could entertain himself, certainly, but he thrived on activity, on movement.  Forcing him to remain stagnant would be a terrible punishment indeed.  

She’d seen it rip better men apart in the past, what was to say that it wasn’t doing the same to him now?

She watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, fixing his gaze on Nat wholly this time.  She might’ve felt uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare had she not been on the receiving end of it before, from behind four inches of solid, bulletproof glass to boot.  

“Alright.  But if I stay you need to talk.”  

His haughty smile returned.  “If you think I will tell you--.”

“You can tell me whatever you want. I said talk, I never said what about.”

It was what he needed after all, she thought as she watched his body relax, the lines around his eyes loosen.  And if he slipped up and told her just _why_ he’d done what he had, well, it was simply a bonus.  

 

 


	34. Fem!Steve/Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Nkowaliuk, who requested fem!Steve and Natasha, I present this drabble and hope you enjoy it!

Of all of Loki’s pranks that he’d thrown at them, this one certainly wasn’t what any of the Avengers had anticipated.  Especially not Steve, or rather Stephanie as Tony as affectionately calling the newly feminized Captain America.  She’d woken them all up early that morning with a shout of dismay upon having realized she’d developed breasts and other rather interesting differences past her hips, and her cheeks had flushed bright red when Jarvis had explained to the rest of them that the blonde woman in front of them was in fact the same Steven Grant Rogers they’d known, simply that one of Loki’s spells had hit him and transformed him as he slept.  Thor, apologizing until he was red in the face for his brother’s antics, had disappeared to track him down and try and offer Steve an antidote to the situation, while Tony had simply grinned and asked Stephanie to put on one of the old USO dancing girl costumes.  

Not surprisingly, her punches were just as effective in that form as they were when she was a man.  Cowed into making a new, more lithe suit that wouldn’t cling in all the wrong places, Stark disappeared into the lab to try and reconstruct what he could out of the suit material he’d been developing, leaving Natasha and Stephanie in the kitchen together, Clint and Banner out of the tower for the time being.  Stephanie could hardly meet Natasha’s eyes, her face still beet red and her fingertips drumming nervously on the countertop.  That was all Nat needed, and she stood slowly, closing the distance and taking Stephanie’s hand in her own.  

“Come on.  You’re going to need some new clothes, even if this is temporary,” she promised, allowing herself to quirk a smile.  Her captain’s shoulders relaxed, and for the first time since knowing Steve--or Stephanie--she saw nervousness and fear in those baby blues.  Nat simply squeezed her hand, doing her best to lift her away from the kitchen island and tug her downstairs to her car.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.  I can just stay in my old clothes--.”

“Those won’t help you get comfortable, and if you’re not comfortable in your own skin then the wrong clothes are just going to make it worse,” Natasha said, voice quiet and barely audible over the hum of her car as she pulled out of the parking garage and revved it up the ramp to get to the main roads.  Lucky for them both, the mall was less than packed at nine in the morning on a Tuesday, making it all the easier for the both of them to squeeze into Gap and Banana Republic and snag some of the more conspicuous articles of clothing without Steve--Stephanie--feeling as though she was on display or uncomfortable, as she might’ve been in the more racy lingerie stores.  

Nat was just sitting outside one of the dressing rooms, fiddling on her phone and checking in on Tony’s progress with Stephanie’s new suit, when she heard cursing from behind the door.  

“Can’t get the stupid thing--shit--how the hell do they do this?  Makes it look so easy--.”

Natasha knocked quietly on the thin door, and everything that was going on just behind it stopped, going silent.  “Need help?”

Half a breath pause.  “Please?”

She felt herself smile as the lock on the door slid back and Stephanie stood with her back to Nat, struggling with the bra clasp.  Even as a female, her back was a work of art, muscle rippling under miles of gorgeous, fair skin, Stephanie’s blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and tickling her shoulder bones.  Nat locked the door behind her and her hands covered Stephanie’s, guiding them to the hooks so that in less than half a second it had fit together.  Stephanie breathed a thank you, flushing as she pulled on a deep navy t-shirt and modeled it for Natasha.  

“Look okay?”

“You’re gonna need a bigger bra,” she admitted, tipping her head to the side.  “You’re practically spilling out of that one.”

A strangled whimper left the other woman’s mouth and she looked half ashamed for the admonition of weakness.  “But we just got that one on.”

“Trust me--a good bra is the most important thing.  I’ll be right back with one,” she promised, after running a hand under Stephanie’s shirt to check the sizing.  She didn’t miss the way the other woman shivered, not in disgust either.  

A couple hours later, and several hundred dollars of Tony’s money spent, Stephanie finally seemed to be perking up at least a little.  

“You didn’t need to do this, you know,” she said once the pair of them had made it back to Nat’s car.  Nat shrugged it off.  

“God knows you take care of me and the team more than enough.  Least I could do is give you a training lesson with a bra.”  She shot the other woman a wry smile, paused, then leaned over to kiss her cheek.  “Might come in handy if you ever get the courage to ask me out.”  She murmured, delighting in the way that the woman reddened again but didn’t deny it.  

 

 


	35. Thor/Loki/Nat/Steve Foursome for Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had no idea where to even start with this, or go, so I hope it's satisfactory either way. Thanks for reading!

She perched herself precariously over Thor, her fingers threaded with his as Steve, to the side of the bed, massaged her breasts and Loki pressed a finger into her already sopping wet cunt, spreading her as best he could.  They’d been fucking around for the better part of an hour, Nat’s thighs slick with a combination of her own come and theirs, neither of the three men looking as if they were ready to finish any time soon.  She’d been joking when she’d insinuated she could outlast all three, and the day after she’d made the comment they were eager to show her otherwise.  With surprising ease given how gifted he was, Thor slid his cock into her ass, groaning as he pulled away from her lips to bite at her collar.  She was already so slick and loose from the earlier pounding both Steve and Loki had given her while she’d sucked Thor off, swallowing him down along with the moans that the other two men elicited.  In front of her eyes the pair of them were locking lips, groping one another as Thor eased himself into Nat.  

His hands found her hips as he laid back on the sweat-soaked bed and held her above him in place.  His arms didn’t even strain as he jackhammered his hips upwards and into her.  She screamed, back arching, head thrown back and mouth wide open.  An invitation, it seemed, for Steve to press his cock past her lips, it seemed, though it was Loki who guided it into her welcoming mouth.  He was grinning, his eyes glinting as they caught Nat’s.  She simply whimpered, certain she knew exactly what was coming next, and sure enough as he lined his hips up with hers, tapping on Thor’s thigh to get his brother to pause she nearly gagged on Steve as Loki pressed himself into her.  Forcing herself to take slow, full breaths of air through her nose, the three gave her the courtesy of a moment.  

“Not getting tired yet are you, Natasha?”  Steve teased, carding a hand through her hair and stroking the side of her face as he pulled himself from her mouth.  She flushed, eyes glazed she was certain as she shook her head.  

“Nowhere near finished, Steve,” she assured him, opening her mouth and tugging him closer to suck him down again, rolling her tongue over his head before bobbing.  Thor’s boom of a laugh was all that preluded the much slower thrusts into her this time, Loki pushing in whenever his brother pulled out so that she was never want for any friction.  Her nerves were going to burst at any given moment, she was sure, her eyes closing as she gagged on her moans and shouts of pleasure, taking great care to keep her jaw relaxed as Steve started to pump himself into her, doing all the work for her.  

It was perfect.  She felt full, blissed out on pleasure that flooded every inch of her brain, every cell of her body succumbing to the overflow of sensations.  She found herself screaming in release far more often than she ever had in her life, even as the men switched positions, Nat caught between Steve and Thor, her legs wrapped around Steve’s hips and her head laying back on Thor’s shoulder, hardly able to keep herself upright, as Loki sat back and watched, stroking himself to the image of perfection in front of him.  She caught his eyes and stretched a hand lazily out towards him.

“Mm kiss me,” she begged, the words heavy on her tongue, and when he stood to oblige her she reached out with one of her hands to take over what his own had been doing, not happy until he’d finished in her palm.  

Needless to say she didn’t last much longer after that, limp and boneless and cuddled between the three men by the time she finally admitted to not being able to take any more.  She barely caught the relieved sigh that wormed its way from Steve’s mouth, or the look passed between Thor and Loki, likely because one of them had won a wager made on the outcome of the evening, but as she collapsed, nestled between them all, she couldn’t focus on anything else except the bliss of her oncoming nap.  

How she planned to walk the next day she’d figure out later.  

 

 


	36. Gamora/Nebula PWP Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There weren’t many things that Gamora and Nebula could call their own, so they took pride in that which was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ICallHimNina, who wanted a Nebula/Gamora fic. Sorry it's so short, but it's my first time writing them and I hope I did the characters justice. Hope you enjoy!

It started out simply as a way to decompress after a fight.  They’d be thrown into the ring against siblings, Chitauri, whichever foes their adoptive father decided they needed to prove themselves against.  Gamora would press her fingers into Nebula’s hip bones, leaving new bruises, personal touches, against her blue skin, while her lover would bite her collarbone hard enough to draw blood, forcing Gamora’s skin to break out in goosebumps at the sensation.  She’d always laughed at that, called Gamora too sensitive, even as she’d palm her slit, slipping her hand through the waistband of Gamora’s trousers to moan at how wet she was.  How willing, and wanting, she was.  

“Didn’t think you’d ever complain about how _badly_ I want you, Nebula,” Gamora groaned, shoving her sister’s back against the wall and lining their lips up in a clash of teeth and tongues, battling over whose will, and want, was greater.  That was how it always was, how it always would be.  Who wanted it more, and who was willing to try harder for it.  Their hips would knock against one another, Nebula riding Gamora’s leg as she pried her adopted sister’s legs open, Nebula’s fingers pressing hard against Gamora’s g-spot, angling her wrist just so.  Gamora’s forehead would rest against Nebula’s, her mouth slack and breath coming in hard, needy pants, a keen slipping from her tongue while Nebula would simply growl and groan low in her lover’s ear.  

“You want this.  Want me,” she’d growl, Nebula’s teeth nipping at Gamora’s ear, just behind it, sucking hard enough that for the next week whenever Gamora would pull her hair back she’d show off the bite marks of the woman she claimed as her own.  They might’ve been forced together, made to fight and train and given so many modifications that there was no classifying what either of them was, but this?  These marks?  Gamora would come with a shuddering gasp each time she caught sight of the purpling skin, the marks she’d left.  Her fingers would crush Nebula’s rib cage so hard she’d hoped her fingerprints would be burned into her lover’s skin.  Half believed it would be if she tried hard enough, often enough.  

And every time she caught them fading, see the lightened marks whenever Nebula’s shirt would ride up, she’d find an excuse to get her alone once more, pull her into her arms, and reapply them until Nebula howled her name.  It was enough, Gamora supposed.  It was their own, all their own, and so it was enough for her.  

 

 


	37. Blackfrost Swimmer/Lifeguard AU Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's got a plan. A plan, and a very over protective brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Bella, who requested this on my tumblr. Thanks so much!

Okay, it wasn’t his best idea, he had to admit, and the thought made Loki a little nervous as he tread water a while away from where his brother and his friends were splashing and fooling around.  Loki kept shooting looks towards the lifeguard, unable to keep himself from doing it. They visited often enough for him to know of her, and it was always her red hair that he searched for the minute they made it to the beach.  She looked incredible as ever, long legs pale no matter how many days she seemed to sit out in the sun, hair pulled into a tight ponytail at the back of her head.  If she’d take off her sunglasses he’d see her gorgeous blue-green eyes, bright as the water he was swimming in--.  

She made him ridiculous.  Made him romantic and irritatingly, well, hopeful.  Loki didn’t do ridiculous.  He didn’t do romantic, or hopeful.  He just had to get her out of his system, that was all it would take.  He swallowed a gulp of air, staring back up at her, then over at his brother.  Right.  Do or die moment. So long as it wasn’t the latter.  

_‘Oh god am I really doing this?  Fucking shit.’_

He swam a little further away from his brother, to a more isolated patch of water, grabbed one last breath of air--’ _pleasedon’tletitbemylastThorwillneverletmeliveitdown._ ’--and allowed himself to sink to the near bottom, thrashing his arms around as though he was drowning.  He kicked his legs out as hard as he could, holding his breath for as long as he could stand, letting out a slow stream of bubbles to keep from actually going without oxygen, but as his chest expanded it became more difficult.  

And more difficult.  

Burning, even.  

His eyes snapped open.  She hadn’t come to get him yet?!  Was she kidding?!  It was her damn job!  He didn’t want to resurface for air, didn’t want to come off as a fraud and make it look as though he’d done it for attention but-- _he really hadn’t gotten her attention yet?_

His eyes burned with the salt water and he forced them shut, trying to calm his brain down.  He could survive a little while longer, though he thrashed even harder to try and make it look as though he wasn’t going to.  He could do this.  Couldn’t he?  

A pair of hands hoisted him up by the shoulders, catching him by surprise and making him inhale a small bit of salt water.  That burned, and as he was lifted out of the water he gasped and spluttered, sick to his stomach and lungs screaming in pain as he tried to cough all the water up.  A pair of lips, harder than he would’ve imagined, closed on his and breathed into his mouth, while a pair of meaty hands pumped on his chest.  

Wait.  Her hands were dainty.  

His eyes snapped open, still burning and bloodshot from the salt before and the water dripping into them now, and Thor gave a whoop of gratitude from above him, pulling him into a tight hug before releasing him.  “Loki you’re a far better swimmer than that!”  He said, sitting back on his heels, the concern not having left his eyes yet.  

Loki could’ve throttled him.  

To the side, he caught a glimpse of Natasha coming over, her brow drawn tight as she stared at them.  “Thought you were drowning for a minute.  Good thing your brother cares so much about you.”  She murmured.  “You need something?  Towel, water, phone to call your parents?”  

Loki’s cheeks burned as he shoved Thor off of him, the oaf having tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and stormed off.  

“Loki, what’s wrong?”  Thor shouted after him, his only response the middle finger Loki shot his way.  

 

“You know, if you wanted to get my attention you could’ve just asked me out.”  

Loki froze where he’d sat on the edge of the beach, nose dug into a book, intentionally ignoring every attempt Thor had made to get him back out into the sun and out from under the umbrella’s shade for the past hour and a half.  His eyes snapped up, mouth went dry as he took in the woman before him, her lips quirked upwards in a knowing smile, and felt his cheeks heat up again.  

“What’re you talking about?”  He asked coolly, setting his book down as though it was a great pain to separate himself from its pages.  

“You wanted my attention, and nearly actually drowning to get it is kinda too cliched for me.  Ever see the Sandlot?”  

He looked away, biting his bottom lip.  He didn’t want to tell her that was where he’d gotten the idea from.  Didn’t need to, if her laugh was anything to go off of.  

“How old are you, kid?”  

“16,” he spat.  He wasn’t a kid!  

She gave a low whistle.  “You’re a little young for me, still.  Give it a year or so and then come back and see me.  OK?”  

He grumbled, turning away so she wouldn’t see the disappointment in his eyes.  Seriously?  She’d come all that way just to humiliate him further?  Hadn’t he done enough to make the day absolutely dreadful and--.  

Her lips were warm and soft as they pressed against his cheek, making him go very still and very uncomfortable for a half second after it registered.  Her laugh was quiet, understanding, and just as silently as she’d snuck up on him she disappeared, Loki left to watch her leave.  And place his towel as nonchalantly over his groin as he could manage.  

 

 


	38. Blackfrost Lifeguard AU Pt. 2 + Smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this works as a continuation of ch. 37, but this time with a much higher rating. This chapter contains underage sex, being that Loki is 16 and Nat is 18, but all parties are very much consenting and there is back story to somewhat justify it? Idk. I'd suggest skipping if this isn't your thing.   
> Top!Nat and Virgin!Loki included

As it turned out Loki really hadn’t felt like waiting a year or so as Natasha had suggested, and she didn’t seem to find anything too wrong with at least going out once.  Twice.  Three times.  Each time they had a good time, talking as they walked downtown, Natasha sharing stories of community college to an enamored Loki who all but had hearts in his eyes as she recounted the ridiculous idiots she had to deal with in her classes, the unparalleled sense of freedom she got when cutting class and how she still, somehow, managed to keep her grades within at least acceptable range.  She’d ran away from home in Russia when she was younger, she told him over coffee on their fifth date, her fingers drumming on the cardboard holder, lips pursed as her eyes went out of focus while recounting the story.  He could hardly believe it, own tea forgotten as he sat forward on the front half of his seat to listen to her, all the shit her adopted father had put her through, how she’d gotten lucky enough to meet a guy named Clint Barton who’d taken her in while he was on a business trip in Moscow and he’d found her, shivering and near dead from starvation and took her in without another question.  It sounded like something out of a book or movie, but her words had a ring of truth to them that he couldn’t deny, and so was drawn further into the story, how she’d done everything she could to adjust to America and the differences between here and Russia.  

“It’s too warm here, especially in the summer.” She admitted with a secret smile that made the tips of his ears burn.  “But the winters aren’t too bad.”

“That’s my favorite time of the year,” Loki found himself saying.  “It’s easier to sleep when it’s not so cloyingly hot out.”  

“Exactly.”  She laughed, taking another sip of her coffee.  

Had he been anyone else he might’ve said he’d grown to love her.  He cared for her a great deal but what did he really know about love?  Sure his heart ached when he’d kiss her goodbye as she’d drop him off at the end of his driveway, his parents not quite knowing about her (or the fact that she was two years his senior), and he looked forward to each of their dates, or meet ups as she liked to call them, with an almost pathetic sense of anticipation, but really he didn’t have anything else to look forward to.  Thor had his football, had his extensive friend group, and Loki?  

Well Loki had Natasha, and that she was his secret, and all his, was more than enough for him.  

 

Whenever Odin and Frigga would disappear for a weekend Thor would insist on bringing all his friends to stay at their house, refusing to let he and Loki be trapped, alone, for three days without any company other than one another.  What always happened, despite his eldest brother’s best intentions, was Loki would sneak out and spend all his time elsewhere, escaping the annoying attentions of the others for some rarely found solitude, not needing to worry about a curfew, or his parents worrying about him.  Sure, Thor was nervous that he disappeared for such long periods of time, but Thor was an idiot.  Loki was always fine.  

But now?  Now he had a place to go, and he’d never gotten a good look at Nat’s apartment until he’d found himself sitting there, her lips fused to his, her hips pressed hard against his as she straddled him on her couch.  For all her protests the first time they’d met that he’d been too young she’d certainly forgotten about it all quickly enough, rolling her hips against his so that he pulled away with an embarrassingly high-pitched whine.  Her blue eyes were nearly entirely overcome by her wide-blown pupils, and her smile was one equal to that of a predator smelling the blood of its prey, bleeding out and wounded as it sought protection from its killer.  He shuddered.  

“Haven’t you ever been with a girl, Loki?”  Nat teased, leaning over to nip at his throat, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin enough to make him shudder and shiver beneath her, and juxtaposed with the warmth of her mouth it was enough to make him crazy.  

“N-no,” he admitted, head lolling back as he moaned when she sucked hard at the spot where his throat and shoulders met.  At his words, however, she froze, and pulled away.  Gone was the teasing smile on her lips and with a sinking stomach he wondered what he'd said that had made her stop.  He didn’t want her to!  

“What’s wrong?”  He asked, confused.  

“You’re a virgin,” she said, pulling herself off his lap.  “God.  I forget how young you are.”

“Wow, thanks for that,” he said with a roll of his eyes.  That made him feel good, and he wrapped his arms around his torso, defensively, painfully aware for the erection tenting his pants.  Why’d she have to pull away?  “Anyway what’s it matter?”  

“I just--shit, Loki,” she sighed and ran a hand through her hair.  “Sorry.  I should probably be going slower.  I don’t want to push you to do something you don’t want to.”  She didn’t look at him, the dim light from the corner lamp making her look almost alien with how pale she was, her hair a blood red that made his mouth dry as she pulled it back away from her face.  On a strange whim of bravery he slid closer, pressing his lips to hers, cupping her face with his hands and trying to push as much emotion as he could into the kiss, trying to show her just how little he cared about that.  It was stupid, after all.  What he felt with her--that was what mattered, right?  He tried to show that to her, wanted her to feel it, and judging by the way she actually melted beneath him he did at least a half-decent job of it.  

“Tasha,” he whispered.  “I want that.  Please.”  

“You don’t have to--that’s not what I brought it up for.  I mean it.”  She told him, staring at him very seriously.  

“But I do.”  

“And I want you to give it some time to think about.”  She countered, not going to let it go.  “I’m not about to call it quits.  If I was able to do that I’d have made you wait until you were a little older to ask me out,” she teased, pressing a finger to his lips when they opened so he could say something.  She shook her head.  “I mean it.  Give it until the next time your parents go out of town.  You think seriously on it and get back to me.  I don’t wanna hear about it until then.”  

He hated her for doing that, for treating him like a child, but knew she had a point.  She always did, and just like his mother he wasn’t willing to be proven wrong when he tried to go against it.  He wasn’t that stupid.  

 

A month later and Loki was practically itching for Odin and Frigga to leave.  He and Natasha had been still seeing one another, but she was a lot more careful around him, not anywhere near as bold as she had once been with her affections.  He internalized the frustration, certain he’d done something to irritate her, but refused to bring it up to her whenever she asked him what was wrong.  She wasn’t even that much older than he was, he thought.  Two years wasn’t that big of a difference, hell Odin and Frigga were far further apart in their ages and they still turned well enough.  Not that he was thinking about marrying her, but--.  

It was getting too confusing.  He hadn’t felt this strongly about someone in years, not since he’d confessed to Sigyn that he liked her a year or so ago.  She’d been sweet about it, but they’d not lasted more than a month.  This?  What he had with Natasha?  She was all he’d ever wanted, quick-witted enough to keep even him on his toes, gorgeous, cunning and determined to get what she wanted.  

In hindsight he never stood a chance against falling for her.  

 

He’d all but raced to Natasha’s the moment that his parent’s car had cleared the driveway, before Thor could even so much as suggest calling the others to come over.  He was out of breath and red in the face from peddling so hard, and soaked from when it had started to rain halfway through, but he waited outside her building all the same after he’d called her to let him in.  He was lucky she had the weekend off because he didn’t plan on leaving for the next few days, if she’d let him.  He couldn’t help but smile when she greeted him at the door, her eyes wide and mouth falling in a small ‘o’, not saying anything as he rushed forward to greet her with a kiss.  She felt so warm against him, his body molding to hers.  Despite the height difference he was still taller than her, and so bent his knees slightly to make up for the awkward angle.  

“I thought about what you said--before--last time,” he gasped when they finally pulled away, Natasha grabbing him by the soaking lapels of his jacket and tugging him inside.  “I want this.  Please.”  He crushed his lips against hers and tasted her moan on her lips.  “Show me how to make you happy?”

Her groan rattled his bones as her fingers intertwined with his and tugged him towards her room, Loki grateful that she lived on the first floor as he all but tripped over his own feet in excitement to follow after her.  He was grateful when she pushed him inside and the pair made quick work of stripping him of his soaking wet clothes, the air bringing goosebumps up on his skin as he leaned in to kiss her once more.  She was so damn good at it he forgot that breathing was a necessity, assuming that his head was simply spinning because, well, when didn’t it spin when he was around her?  He backed up as she helped him get out of his boxers, slipping them onto the ground and gasped when her hand wrapped around his already erect cock, eyes fluttering shut as she tugged gently once, then a second time with added pressure.  

An embarrassingly high pitched keen left his mouth when she pulled away, and he was left to follow her as she sauntered towards the bedroom, a pleased grin on her lips when she turned back to see him trailing just behind, a puppy following his master.  He shuddered in anticipation at the thought, tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip when she told him to sit on the bed.  Her fingers were deft and skilled as she pulled the shirt, now soaked from where Loki had pressed against her, up and over her head, exposing the plain black bra to Loki’s eyes, the color stark against her pale, perfect skin.  His cock throbbed with excitement, and for the first moment a wave of terror hit him at the idea of coming way too quickly.  

“Do you have--.”

“Condoms?  Yeah, I’ve got you covered,” she grinned, reading his expression as simply as if it were a book as her fingers unhooked her bra and let it fall to the side.  Were he more creatively inclined he’d have tried to write sonnets dedicated to her beauty, and he pushed himself up onto his hands from where he’d been laying backwards to get a better look as she slid her jeans off.  

“You are so gorgeous,” he stammered, cheeks flushing as the realization of how freaking corny that sounded hit him.  Could he have been any more stupid?  But Natasha gave a quiet laugh, her usually sultry smile softening as she crawled from the end of the bed towards him.  

“You’re pretty impressive yourself,” she admitted, taking the side of his face in her hand and kissing him.  Where the others had been rushed, a desperate desire for intimacy and pleasure having spurned their movements on, this was far slower and all the more passionate, stealing the heart from his chest as if she’d reached past his rib cage and pulled it out herself.  “You’re sure you want to do this?”  She asked when she pulled away, and he was amazed at how level her voice was.  How did she stay so cool and collected when he was sure he was going to come any minute if she kissed him like that again.  

He nodded.  “Yeah. I do.  I really, really do.”  He kept her gaze the whole while he spoke, not wanting her to think he was just saying it because it was what she wanted.  He did, too.  In fact he couldn’t remember wanting anything more.  

She smiled at that and left a fleeting kiss on his lips, before moving her mouth lower, humming against the hypersensitive skin of his neck for him to lay backwards.  Biting his lip to stifle the groan that threatened to leave his mouth he obeyed, hardly able to believe it when she moved to straddle him, the soft silk of her black panties rubbing against his cock teasingly.  She was already soaking through the fabric, and he wondered if the idea that he’d never done this before was really that exciting for her.  It certainly was for him, right until the near-crippling terror hit of never having done this before _and oh god what if he messed up and she hated him forever shitshitshit--_.

“Loki, get out of your head,” Nat murmured as she bit his collarbone gently.  She peeked up at him through her lashes, watched as his face colored.  “If at any point you want to stop--and I mean it--you tell me so.  I’m not going to leave you just because you don’t feel comfortable, so don’t be afraid to say so.”  

How was she so good at reading him?  It was ridiculous, and she was amazing.  The heat of her mouth, and her body pressed up against him, made him shudder and groan beneath her.  She took one of his hands in hers and brought it up to palm at her breast, feeling the nipple harden beneath his touch.  He near whimpered as she let out a breathy moan, showing him how to massage the soft skin, how she liked it when he pinched her nipple and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger.  “Just like that,” she moaned, arching her back and rubbing her covered slit against his cock.  The noises she was making were going to drive him absolutely overboard if he didn’t keep calm, and he did everything he could to keep from thinking about just what was going on, what she was doing to him and how amazing it felt.  She took his other hand and brought it lower, tipping her hips forward so that he could brush the pads of his fingertips against the top of her panties.  He whined softly, stroking the soft skin just beneath her hipbones, and when she told him he could go lower he obliged, skimming his fingers across her skin, dipping down past the band of her panties.  She was warm and slick as he brought his fingers down lower, rubbing at the slick folds and pressing one finger into her heat when she leaned in to whisper for him to, her breath hot against his ear.  She was molten lava inside, her hips rocking forward as he explored the heat and sensation of her body, amazed at how willingly she accepted the finger he pushed as deep into her a he could.  

“Further back, crook your finger, right _there yes ohhhh_ ,” she gasped, her temple pressed against his, breathy moans filling his ears as he felt something slightly spongy against the pads of his fingertips.  He pressed a little harder, delighting in the way she asked him to go faster in between moans, and soon enough he pumped two fingers inside of her, rubbing against that soft tissue until he felt her go very, very still and let out a wail as her head flung backwards.  Her body convulsed around him, a gush of heat covered his two fingers, and by God if it wasn’t the sexiest, most amazing thing he’d ever seen he didn’t know what else would qualify.  

She panted as she came down from her high, her body stilling atop him, eyes fluttering open from when they’d been squeezed shut in pleasure, now glazed and hooded.  She pulled his fingers out from within her and brought them to her own lips, sucking them into her mouth and cleaning them off.  He could hardly tear his eyes away, mouth falling open in shock as the pad of her tongue laved against the tips of his fingers, right where they’d been inside her, and when she leaned in to kiss him he willingly accepted the taste of her.  She sucked on his tongue and he shuddered as he tried not to come right then and there.  

“You ready?”  She asked when she pulled away, moving to the side to slip her panties off and let them fall to the ground, snagging a condom from the bedside table and opening it.  He opened his mouth as he nodded, going to offer to put it on, but she smiled before shimmying down the length of his body, angling herself so she could lean over and lick a long stripe up his cock.  His hips bucked upwards, eyes widening so far it was a miracle they stayed in their sockets as his groan cut off anything and everything else.  Oh _fuck_ that was amazing.  She did it again, and again, before bringing his head into her mouth and it suddenly became everything he could not to blow his load that quickly.  His fists gripped the bed sheets as she swirled her tongue around the top of his cock before bobbing her head down and taking him completely in her mouth.  

He saw stars, saw damn galaxies zoom past, as his head hit the bed and his back arched and all he could think was that this must’ve been what heaven felt like.  She pulled her mouth up and off of him with a vulgar, wet pop that gave him shivers, and her hands deftly rolled the condom down.  She leaned in to kiss him again, positioning herself just atop him as she tried to give him enough time to cool down.  Once more she double checked that he was okay, and after he assured her, verbally this time, that yes, he was more than okay, she eased herself onto her knees and down onto his cock.  

Even with the condom it felt almost too good to be true.  She was hot and wet and tight enough to bring those stars back to the corners of his vision and he gasped as she whimpered, slipping down onto him.  

“ _Fuck_ you’re big,” she gasped, one of her hands moving to massage her breasts.  He sat up slowly, balancing himself on one hand while the other batted her hands away to take over, pleasing her just as she’d showed him.  She let out another whimper, this one deeper in tone, before she slid herself up, off of him, then slowly back down.  His moans joined hers, even as he leaned up further to bring his mouth to her left breast, sucking on the supple flesh and swirling his tongue around her nipple.  

As she tightened around him and slid down the last inch or so far more quickly than he’d expected his orgasm hit him in the gut, his mouth falling open as he tried to suck in as much oxygen as possible, his hips stuttering upwards.  It was over in a matter of seconds, and though Nat moaned throughout the whole thing he knew she hadn’t gotten her own orgasm.  Shame washed over him as she pulled off, promising him that everything was alright even though he knew that wasn’t right.  After tugging the condom off and moving to the bathroom to throw it away, he caught sight of her lying back on the bed, her own hand in between her legs and a secret smile on her face.  She didn’t have to say anything more than that, and even though his legs were wobbly he rushed to fall into bed beside her, lowering himself so that his mouth was level with her still wet slit.  

“Do you like this?”  He asked, kissing the warm insides of her thigh and nipping at the skin just as she’d done to his throat.  He’d overheard Sif speaking about it once to Thor when they’d thought they were alone, and if the great oaf could do it, well then so could he.  Nat whined and nodded, directing Loki exactly where she wanted his tongue to hit.  He could take direction all day, he thought, so long as she was the one giving it, swirling the tip of his tongue around her clit until she shuddered and screamed, a warm gush following not long after, while his fingers once again stroked at her g-spot as they had before.  He didn’t stop there, addicted to the sweet taste of her that he kept her writhing and gasping for oxygen beneath him for a good half an hour before his jaw got sore and he felt his cock stirring between his legs.  She caught sight of it when he pulled away, full lips flushed with how she’d bitten them and twisting into the biggest grin he’d ever seen.  

“Ready for round two?”  


	39. Sex Pollen - Steve/Natasha/Gamora/Maria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Nkowaliuk, who requested Natasha/Steve/Gamora and Natasha/Steve/Maria, so I meshed them together. Hope you like! And sex pollen-y because hng, favorite trope of mine

None of them quite knew what to expect when it hit.  Even Gamora seemed taken aback when the sweet scent hit the air, circulating quickly through Natasha and Steve’s living room, forcing Gamora to put her glass down, the ice clinking lazily, before she reached for Maria sitting just beside her.  The newly appointed human resources representative didn’t miss a beat as Gamora’s green lips descended on hers, mouth sweet and warm and all encompassing as the otherworld assassin pulled Marai onto her lap.  Emboldened by the surprised moans of Natasha, her eyes transfixed and clothes suddenly too warm for her, Gamora deepened the kiss, devouring Maria whole as the woman situated her legs to circle Gamora’s waist, the heat of them scalding even through the leather of the assassin’s outfit.  Steve reached out for his lover, his blood heated and mouth hanging open, utterly out of his mind with want.  Giving no second thought to the thrown open windows of their brownstone apartment he tugged his shirt off, feeling Natasha’s attention shift to him in interested.  Not a word passed between them as she climbed atop him, suffocating in the heat of his embrace.  

He moaned high in his throat when she kissed down his chest, taking his nipples in her mouth one at a time and laving attention onto them, biting to make him cry out while Maria had managed to stick her hand down the front of Gamora’s pants, fingering her open hurriedly as the green woman writhed and shouted from under her, begging for more with swollen lips.  Steve’s lust-glazed eyes watched as Maria pushed Gamora back on the floor until she was on her back, drawing her own fingers from Gamora’s sex and putting them in her mouth.  She sucked noisily, making a show of cleaning herself before furiously divesting the woman beneath her.  Nat was keen on doing the same to Steve, and his attention was caught as she impaled herself without warning, his hips bucking upwards as her slick heat engulfed him.  His back arched, hands flying up to her hips as she rocked forward, hands on his pecs and face screwed up in pleasure and concentration, Steve moving her body up and down, on and off him, as easily as if she were feather light.  She jilted her hips forward and gasped his name as his cock hit the perfect spot within her.  

Beside them she could hear the two women groaning, Maria’s body having swung around so her hips were poised above Gamora’s head, legs brackening the assassin who lapped at Maria’s cunt with an enthusiasm that made even Nat blush as she turned to watch.  Not to say that Maria wasn’t giving as good as she got by the croons and keens Gamora was giving, two of Maria’s fingers buried deep in her heat as she lapped and teased Gamora’s clit.  Their voices rose into a cacophony of pleasured groans and gasps, and for all Steve’s experience, between the perfection of Nat atop him and the sight just beside them he didn’t know how much longer he’d last.  He voiced these concerns to Nat, words broken, but it only made her ride him all the harder for it, an eager grin twisting her full lips as she moved faster, muscles straining, the slap of flesh on flesh reverberating between them.  Sure enough he felt the pressure build within his lower gut, forcing stacatooed breaths from his lungs as his toes curled and his hands fisted on Nat’s hips, bruising her pale skin.  Nothing she wasn’t used to.  He shouted as his vision went white and a deafening roar he only recognized as his own in hindsight filled his ears.  His hips jolted upwards as he rode him through the orgasm, her own body having clenched up and milked him for everything he was worth. He still felt the fire just under his skin, though, still needed more.  

Judging by the way Nat had climbed off him to crawl, eyes hungry, towards the other two he wasn’t the only one.  It wasn’t long until Maria leaned up as she straddled Gamora’s face entirely, Nat’s fingers replacing hers and driving in faster than before, experience telling her where to go to make Gamora scream the most.  Scream she did.  Steve never recalled her being so vocal in the bedroom before, and the memory juxtaposed with the current situation made his mouth water to hear her come so undone.  His breath caught in his throat as he watched Natasha coax an orgasm from Gamora, who passed the favor on to Hill, her head falling back with a wordless shriek.  

It wasn’t near enough, and they cycled through as many varieties of positions as they could think of until Nat had lost the ability to speak anything other than stuttered Russian, Maria passed out wrapped around Gamora, and Steve’s brain short circuited just as the sun peeked in through the blinds.  He had the sense, though barely the strength, to shut them.  The neighbors didn’t need to see that when they’d probably heard it all.  

Gamora explained it as a side effect of her training under Thanos, the repression of her sexuality transmuting into a powerful aphrodisiac, sweet in scent, that came off her when she least expected it if she didn’t scratch the itch frequently enough.  Steve and Nat waved it off, neither worried, while Maria followed Gamora out, looking all too pleased to help her scratch whatever itch she wanted.  

Nat tugged Steve upstairs, mumbling something about the effects not having worn off, and Steve stifled a chuckle as she wondered how long she’d try to get away with that one.  

 

 


	40. Blackfrost Compulsive Lying Prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who requested Loki continuously lying, I present this to you! Human, college!AU quick drabble. Hope you like it!

“Excuse me?”  His voice sounded far higher pitched than he’d wanted it to, especially in the silence of the library around them, but if he didn’t take the opportunity to say something right then?  Well, he never would.  The redhead in the comfortable leather armchair turned her head ever so slightly to look at him out of the corner of her eyes, brows rising as she took him in quickly.  

“Da?”  

“Uhm, well, that is, you’re in my seat,” he said, the lie springing from his tongue before he could think of anything else better to say.  He sounded like an imbecile, that much wasn’t hard to figure out, and the way that she looked at him said the exact same.  She knew, as well as he did, that she’d been coming to the library and picking that seat for the past half a week, Loki having watched her out of the corner of his eyes, distracted entirely from studying whenever he’d get a whiff of her perfume as he’d passed.  Her expression didn’t change, eyes still hard as she surveyed him, full lips pursed.  

“I mean--not that you can’t sit there.  Obviously.  Free country.  It’s a great chair isn’t it?  Let’s you look out over the--the lawns and everything,” he said, stealing a glance out the window just ahead of them and smiling to try and cover up his nerves.  He was an idiot.  

“It’s your seat, you said?”  She asked, one well-manicured brow rising, incredulous.  He hadn’t expected her to say anything, and against his better judgement his heart pounded all the faster for it.  

“Yeah.  But like I said it’s cool.  I mean, I couldn’t ask you to move, could I?”  He gave a laugh that didn’t sound like him but brought a smile to her lips.  A mocking one, but a smile nonetheless.  It was a start.  

“I’ve never seen you sit here in the past four years that I’ve gone to this university.”

“No?”  He asked, not realizing she was a senior.  Hell, she didn’t look like it--then again, he’d been told he didn’t look like a freshman, green as grass.  He wasn’t so certain she’d share the same opinion.  The lies grew even worse.  “Well we must’ve had opposite times then in the past few years.  I’ve been coming here all the time.  Great minds think alike, must be.”  

“Look, if you want to ask me out then just get it over with.”  She said, words a harsh snap in his ears, bringing a blush to his cheeks.  He tried to splutter that that wasn’t what he was planning when she sat up to her full height, green eyes dark and lethal.  

“I have an exam to study for.  In Russian.  If you’re not going to shut up then at least move somewhere else because I don’t have time for your pathetic attempts.”  

“If you let me buy you dinner I’ll shut up,” he said before his mind could think over what it was saying.  He was dead.  Doomed.  Why the hell had he said that?  His face reddened all the more and he dipped his head, kicking himself internally.  Idiot, idiot, _idiot_.  

“That . . . wasn’t what I meant.  I’m sorry--I’ll leave you alone,” he muttered, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he hurried backwards, feeling the weight of her eyes on his back the whole time he slunk back to the desk where he’d left his things, packed them up with sweaty palms, and headed out.  He’d bash his brains in later, in the privacy of his dorm with no one to judge him, especially not the redhead he’d made an ass of himself in front of.  

 

A week later, idiot that he was and unable to get her face out of his head, he headed back to the fourth floor where he’d found her before, only to find that the seat was empty save a small note.  

_Pick me up at 8 pm outside the lib.  You owe me a nice dinner after making me get a 98 on my test._

_-Natasha_

 

 _Natasha_.  The name suited her, and he grinned as he heard a rustling and turned to see her sauntering away from him, flaming hair in a ponytail, a certain swagger in her step that let him know she’d meant the note for him.  He tried not to leap for joy as soon as she was out of his sight, punching the air and giving a whoop of glee that earned him glares from the other students nearby.  What did it matter?  Idiotic brain or not, compulsion to lie and make a fool of himself or not, he had a date.  

 

 


	41. Blackfrost Role Reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who asked for Nat and Loki to switch places in the Avengers, I present you this! Hope you like and it's not too disappointing!

Loki went very still as he stared at the woman behind the glass walls, the ones that Fury swore would keep her from getting out and getting the rest of them.  She was wide grinned, her stance easy and her hands on her hips as she stared at him, sizing him up, stripping him bare and laying him out in front of her.  Her clothes were just like Thor’s, leathers and metal worked around her lithe frame, vambraces guarding her wrists and black leather gloves covering the same hands he’d seen rip a man--literally--in two.  None of this showed on his face, his own stance wide, knees easy and head tipped to the side as he watched her all but bounce on the balls of her feet.  

“Come to gloat, have you?  I hear you call yourself the Prince of Lies,” she said, her voice sultry smooth and sharp enough to fillet him alive if he let it.  He allowed his thin lips to twist upwards in a smile.  

“I don’t think any of my games will work on you, Natalia.”  He took a couple well-measured steps closer, blinking slowly as he looked up at her.  Were they on the same ground she’d have been shorter than him, but as it was the pod was elevate

d just enough that he had to crook his neck to meet her eyes.  He watched her pupils flare as he exposed his neck, filed that away.  “They say you have as talented a tongue as I do.  Care to show me?”  

Her laugh brought goosebumps to his flesh and it was all he could do not to shudder at the noise, sure that any moment she would reach through the glass, take him by the throat, and rip his larynx out without batting an eyelash.  He wouldn’t have been amazed at all.  

“Is this how you get your way?  Woo women who don’t know any better, who look at your black hair and your bright green eyes and swoon?  Or is it men that you cater best to?  Agent Barton has given me a great many descriptions of how . . . talented your own tongue can be.  Perhaps I ought to put you to the test before I crush you beneath my boot.”  Her cocky grin made him bite the inside of his cheek.  He let a glimmer of that show in his eyes, watched her eat his reaction up.  

“Ah, so you’ve been in that position before.  Tell me of the horrors done to you, Loki, and I might tell you my own.”  

Was this how he was to spend his time babysitting?  Swapping stories with a maniac?  

He’d done worse, he supposed, and so turned his back to her to pull up a chair, wishing his spine wasn’t as ramrod straight as it was, wishing he could relax around her to put her off her own guard.  She remained standing as he brought the chair down closer to her cell, seating himself opposite her and leaning forward to fold his hands between his legs, elbows resting on knees.  The very picture of relaxation, not anywhere near the interrogator she thought him to be.  

“We might be here for some time.”

“I have all the time in the cosmos.”  

Of course she did.  

“Where I come from is a place far colder than what Thor tells us of your home,” he said, keeping his voice soft so she had to lean forward to catch his words, sweetening them with honey and watching her expression dance with the information, cataloguing it herself to be used against him.  “Our winters stretch for years, it feels, and the cold never quite leaves your bones.  I grew up knowing that the only way to win, to truly be victorious, is to send a message.  To sow fear into the opponent, make them second guess themselves so they bring themselves down faster than you ever could.”  He took a deep breath, feeling his heart beat all the faster in his chest.  The way her eyes flicked down to his collarbone she could hear it, and it only made it all the faster.  “And that’s what I’ve done, time and time again.  Fear breeds obedience.  Obedience means I’ve been successful, I’ve done my job.”  

“And your obedience?  Who is fortunate enough to have that?”  She asked, voice husky as she pressed even closer, curiosity alighting her eyes.  

“Whomever the highest bidder is.”  He tipped his chin upwards, watching her careful, from the way her cheek twitched to how she wetted her bottom lip.  He leaned back in his seat once more, running his hands up his thighs and sneaking a peek at the way her gaze followed.

“No matter who that bidder is?”  She asked, curiosity piquing her words.

“I’ve certainly worked for less attractive women in the past,” he said, measuring his words out so that they were slow, suggestive, his accent darkening and taking on the Russian one he’d dropped so long ago, shrugging on the persona that came with it.  She needed to believe he was easily bought, easily won.  She needed to feel the power, and he could give that to her.  Would give that to her.  Fury had said whatever means necessary.  

“You work for men and for monsters, and now you wish to work for a goddess,” she sneered.  “Pathetic.  You’re pretty enough to be a whore, I’ll give you that, but I’ve no need for a sniveling child when I mean to rule the world.”  

He paused, his eyes fixing on hers as her words connected.  Clicked.  Good.  His hand flew up to the comm in his ear, clicking it and connecting immediately to Fury on the other line.  “Get Banner to the med bay and bring the others with him.  Natalia means to unleash the hulk.”  He stood slowly, watching the realization flit into her eyes.  A clever tongue she might have had, but her confidence betrayed her.  She’d only ever tasted victory, preened from her place on a pedestal.  Well Loki intended to light such a fire underneath her she’d never recover.  His eyes held hers as her face contorted with rage, her fist banging on the glass in front of her, teeth bared and a snarl rising from her lips.  

“Swine,” she growled.  “You’ll be the first sacrificed to Thanos if I have to drag you there myself.”

“Then at least I’ll be sure you’re with me.”  He said, voice cold, eyes narrowed, before turning on his heel and disappearing out the door.  

 

 


	42. 42 -- Blackfrost Time Travel prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt from Bella of Loki traveling back in time to before he and Nat were together. Sorry it's so short, but I hope you like it either way! Thanks for reading!

“Amora--no!” Loki shouted to the sorceress standing inches away from him, but too late: she reached for the amber gem in front of her without hesitation, her fingers itching to clasp around it, yet Loki found himself reaching out as well, whether to bat away her hand or take it himself, he might never know.  His fingers wrapped around the tiny stone and everything in his body seized up, the scream hardly able to leave his throat.  In the distance--the far distance--he heard Thor shouting, Natasha screaming (he’d never heard her scream, not like _that_ ), and then everything went silent.  Still.

He gasped, blinking rapidly as light shot into his world, bright and painful and his heart beat ( _very much alive_ ) hard in his chest, echoing the knocking on the door of--he was back in his room.  What the Hel had happened?  

“Trickster--get up,” Natasha’s voice came from the other side of the door.  Without considering what he’d just seen--what he’d just _done_ \--he leapt to his feet, nearly tripping over himself to get to her.  She arched a brow at how he panted, sweating, in front of her, and when he pulled her into his arms she stiffened.  

“What the fuck--.”

“Norns I thought I lost you, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, tipping her face up to kiss and finding a gun pointed at his face.  

“Let.  Me.  Go.”  She growled, her eyes narrowed.  Loki’s blood ran cold.  What?  They’d been together for nearly a year and this was--this was.  

He released her, shock playing on his features before he forced himself to calm down.  The _time_ gem, of course.  She was watching him carefully, her own gaze guarded enough to make his chest ache.  She’d been the reason that his stay here had been bearable, tolerable, to say the least.  She’d been the highlight of Midgard.  Now she was looking at him as though he was lower than the dirty beneath her boots.  

“What’s gotten into you?  What are you playing at?” She demanded.  

“Nothing,” he said, shielding himself from her intrusive gaze, his jaw set in a heavy line.  “What do you want?”

“Don’t play coy with me.  What did you do?  Why did you think you’d lost me--and why does it matter?  You hate me, Trickster.  You’ve never failed to make that clear.”  

No he didn’t, not at all.  He forced himself to smirk, feeling the burden only get heavier on his chest.  “Were anything to happen to you the blame would be brought to me.  I worry not for you but my own neck.”

Her face told him she didn’t believe him, that she didn’t trust him, and his throat clenched as he pushed past her, careful to keep from touching her.  “Now, what can I help you with?”

One of her brows arched with the words, and he tried not to shiver.  He knew that look, knew she was sizing him up to try and read his intention.  “Banner said there was an energy spike here.  Wanted to make sure it wasn’t you messing around.  Again.”  

She’d once looked at him in that way when she tried to figure out what he’d bought her for Valentine’s day, when he’d been hiding her present for upwards of two weeks.  He wanted to hold her, take her in his arms and hear everything would be fine, that they’d get him back to his proper time, to _his_ Natasha, not this woman glaring at him right then with his lover’s face.  

“What are you hiding from me, Loki?” She asked, voice quiet, advancing on hi, forcing him back until he hit the wall.  His heart pounded, his throat closed, and still she advanced with fire in her eyes that burned brighter than the flames of Muspelheim.  He longed to reach out, to touch her, and his hand found her shoulder before he realized what was even happening.  Her stings were out and lodged into his skin faster than he could blink, his body convulsing with the motion and--.  

 

“Loki, _Loki_ , wake up.”  Warm, small hands wrapped around his shoulders, shaking him gently, before his eyes opened and he gasped as though he’d been starving for air.  Natasha sat above him, her face drawn with worry, the strap of her tanktop sliding off of her shoulder as she perched beside him on their bed.  Her hands found his and squeezed, though he couldn’t hear whatever it was she was saying.  This was her, this was his Natasha, and he surged upwards to kiss her hard on the lips, wrapping her tight in his arms and pulling her into his lap.  

“It was just a dream,” she promised him when he’d released her, burying his head into the crook of her neck.  “Just a dream.  You’re safe now.”  

Her fingers were soothing beyond belief as they stroked his back through the sweat-soaked shirt he’d worn to bed, and with the beat of her heart in his ears he promised himself that, no matter what happened, he’d never let her slip away from him again.  

 

 


	43. 43 -- Loki, Nat, and the Hair Straightener

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cracky and short but I love it nonetheless. Thank you, portraitoftheoddity, for prompting it!

“Natasha do you think you’re almost--.”

“No.” She said, voice sharp and clear, not even looking away from her own reflection in the mirror and he tried his best not to scowl, really, he did.  Mornings were always tricky in the Avengers tower, and with the pair of them sharing a bathroom while Tony remodeled after the destruction Ultron had created it made for some rather . . . interesting situations.  At least he hadn’t walked in on her just getting out of the shower.  That, while an excellent show that had made him retreat back to his room to relieve the strain on his trousers.  Now he just needed the damn straightener, and she was taking forever.  Again.  If she hadn’t introduced him to the stupid machine in the first place _they wouldn’t be having this problem and didn’t she understand he had less hair than she did so it took less time anyway--_.  

“You have magic.”

“It’s not the same.”

“You have money.”  

“They don’t make that one any more.  Buy a new one.”

“No.”  She glared at him through the mirror, and he tried not to shudder.   _Dammit_.  He huffed and leaned against the wall, sure that he saw the beginnings of a laugh light up her eyes.  Fine.  The others would just have to wait, then.  He wasn’t about to piss her off, valuing limb and life over that far too greatly.  

 

 


	44. 44 -- Blackfrost Teacher/Student AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather Black Swan-y, but I hope you like it! Thanks for reading!

Loki had been trying to train her for at least half a week before he realized that he was fighting a losing battle, and really, it had just been an excuse to get some time alone with Natasha.  Complaining that her technique was off when it was flawless, saying that she wasn’t exactly getting the new choreography, it was all a ruse, and she’d seen through it after the first day.  Still, he was the new director, she was the ballerina who’d been trying for a lead since she’d been accepted into the company, according to the talk of the other instructors.  If he was using the time and the excuses to his benefit, well, he could hardly be blamed.  

As it was he had her body wrapped around his, their hearts beating hard as he hummed along the coda to the latest piece he had taught them the morning, and her eyes held onto his, somehow coy and commanding at the same time.  Much like her.  It was what had drawn him in from the very get go, and kept him coming back even after she pushed him away, citing a headache or a previous engagement as why she was unable to do anything.  She’d come on to him the very next day, her lips lingering perhaps a little longer than strictly necessary when they’d stage kiss during a one-on-one rehearsal, and as he’d pursue her she’d pull back, all fluttering eyelashes and subtle advances that went nowhere.  It only spurred him on.  

Now there was something different between them.  Something charged.  Something _changed_.  She’d pulled him in and not run away this time.  When his lips had pressed against hers she pushed herself flush against him, pulling away only to spin out of his grip and into the arabesque that was next in the choreography, and he was left with a stiff cock and lust-glazed eyes, watching her twist and contort her body before he pursued her.  Halfway through the part they’d been practicing she kissed him, standing on the very tips of her toes to reach his lips, lips and tongue tasting of the peppermint lipstick he’d seen her dab on her mouth in between rehearsals, making his skin tingle once she left him again, turning out of his grip once more.  And again he pursued her, this time caging her body between his and the wall mirror that they’d been watching themselves in.  She bit down on her bottom lip, staring up at him from beneath her lashes.  

“You’re a rather persistent prince aren’t you?” She teased, voice low, arousal seeping into her words.  Loki gave a growl of agreement before he wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her up with ease into his grip.  Her legs twined around his waist, but she twisted them around by pushing off the wall before he could slam her back against it.  This time it was her hands that roved through his hair, her lips that traced down the line of his jaw and his high cheekbones, her moans that whispered in his ear as she told him she was going to fuck him harder than anyone ever had.  His bones near turned to jelly at that, and he shuddered as he felt her hips shift, applying more pressure to his cock beneath his black trousers.  His free hand slid between them to undo the button and zipper that kept him trapped, groaning when the pressure was alleviated and his pants hit the ground.  Thank God he didn’t bother with boxers that morning, having been in too much of a hurry to care.  Natasha was just as eager, it seemed, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, twisting her wrist so that she could angle a decent grip despite the awkward position.  She slid her thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading precome over the slit so that Loki gasped and his head hit the wall behind them.  Her name fell from his lips, and that made her grin.  He’d hardly noticed anything was happening until her hand stopped, only to be replaced with a tight, wet heat that made his eyes near pop out of his skull.  His hips jerked upwards, and she reached around to pull his hair back, his back arching with the motion and his moans growing louder.  

“Fuck me like you mean it,” she hissed in his ear, lifting and lowering herself on his cock with a strength he wouldn’t have guessed she had if he hadn’t seen her dance.  Still, he acquiesced, not about to let her down now that he’d finally gotten the chance to prove himself.  Though she wouldn’t let him turn them around, preferring him pressed up against the wall, he managed to set a firm rhythm that had them both panting in no time, his cock disappearing into her, hips jilted at just the right angle so the head of his dick hit the sweet, soft spot within her body.  More than once he’d reached down to fondle her breasts, but she’d always swat his hand away, shaking her head, and instead kiss him all the more deeply.  When his rhythm would falter, she would pick up the slack, allowing him a moment of rest, her hips swiveling slightly with the motion as she would take him into her again and again.  His name reduced to whimpers on her lips, she leaned in to press her lips to his throat, hissing that she was _so close_ and he couldn’t help but reach between them to press a thumb to her clit, adding just enough pressure, he thought.  

That did it, and she shrieked as she tightened around him, her legs pulling him further in where they’d circled his hips.  He gasped, stars blinking white and blinding in front of his eyes, and before he could help himself he was pulling out of her and coming, hitting the front of his chest with the hot liquid, praising himself in the back of his mind for his quick thinking, before his knees actually did buckle and they both came crashing down.  Natasha laughed--actually let loose a sound so unguarded it made his chest ache, and it wasn’t long before he joined her, the burning in his thighs forgotten in the bombardment of glee.  The laughter subsided, and she leaned over to press a kiss to his lips before she stood on wobbly legs, resituating the panties she’d shifted to the side under the skirt she’d been practicing in.  

“Not too bad, Loki,” she murmured.  “Same time tomorrow?”  

“Let’s try a flat surface next.”  He proposed as way of agreeing.  The look she shot him was all knowing and his stomach twisted with it before she left.  Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the thought that she was a little more bow legged than before made him grin all the more broadly.  

 

 


	45. Blackfrost Bandfic AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate it, and I hope you enjoy it!

She watched with mixed amusement and disbelief as Loki strode out onto the stage to the roaring of the thousands of fans in front of him.  He never got sick of it, she supposed.  His arms extended, hands open, the screams of his name echoed, and cameras flashed as Loki soaked it all in.  Head tipped back, chin tilted upwards, the huge grin plastered on his lips proved he couldn't get enough of it all, and Natasha couldn't hold it against him.  She preferred the background, the shadows where she could relax and  _watch_ everything that happened, process it.  She hated where he was, with the focus of everyone's eyes zeroing in on every twitch of his body, every minute facial expression.  More than once he offered to bring her out onto stage, and each time she'd declined with a quick shake of her head that'd made him laugh.  

No way in hell would she ever want to switch sides, no matter how much he made or the adoration that came with it.  

Gross.  

He greeted them all with a carefree grin and a shout of glee, the crowd chanting his name over and over until it reverberated in her chest.  She folded her hands over her chest, smiling in spite of herself.  The loon.  He feasted on it all, and she was always so surprised with herself for enjoying  _his_ reaction to it.  

"Are you fucking ready?" He shouted into the mic, his voice echoing over them all.  Nat turned away.  How many times had she heard his music?  Not that she didn't love it, didn't enjoy it, but there was only so often that she could hear his newest single without wanting to roll her eyes every time the chorus mentioned "blazing red hair."  It was cute, she supposed.  

When her name echoed over the PA system she froze in her spot.  All eyes in the back, the stage manager, the back-up singers that had yet to take their place upon introduction, the groupies that followed for the other members of the band--their eyes zeroed in on her.  Her cheeks turned red as her hair as she turned back to glower at her lover.  That.  Ass.  

"Natasha--get out here on stage!  I have an announcement to make!"  

No.  Oh no no no  _no_ noooooo this was not happening!  

Her feet were lead as she tried putting one in front of the other, tried to make her way onto the last place she wanted to be.  When he'd told her to go up with him during sound check she hadn't thought-- _really?_

That son of a bitch.  

He couldn't stop smiling, even with her glaring daggers at him while she stepped up and onto the stage to stand beside him.  He took one of her hands in his and squeezed it, before raising it above both of their heads.  It looked comical, she bet, with their height difference.  He nearly tugged her up onto her toes, and leaned down to kiss her deeply.  "I love you," he whispered against her lips.  

"You're an ass," she muttered back.  

"My wonderful fans, I'd like to take this time to introduce you to my rock, my darling girl.  Natasha Romanov."  

Great, and now her  _name_ would be plastered everywhere.  She was going to throttle him as soon as they were in the hotel room.  She forced herself to smile as soon as he spoke, her blood chilled and heart racing uncomfortably.  Was it hot in there, despite the shivers going up her spine?  She wasn't meant for a life in the limelight, had told him that once they'd moved from casually collaborating on songs to seeing one another.  

"And Natasha Romanov, I'd like to introduce you to, well, the world. Say hello," he grinned.  

"Hello," she said, so quiet that the mic hardly picked it up.  

 

Hours later and she brought her fist hard on his upper shoulder.  "You  _ass!_ You know I hate being brought up on stage--why'd you do that?"

"Ow!  Rude."  He said with a laugh, capturing her wrist and pulling her closer.  She could've pulled out of it, but didn't.  "Because I want the world to know that when I ask you to be with me forever," he leaned down to kiss her.  Butterflies rocketed in her gut.  "It's not just a fling.  It's serious."  

"Wait--what?"

"I said when.  Not now, don't get your knickers in a twist."  He purred, laughing.  She punched him again.  Rude.  


	46. Blackfrost, Dracula-inspired Ficlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon that requested a Dracula-esque fic between Nat and Loki, here it is! Sorry it took forever and a day and I hope you like it!   
> For all the writing that I've done in a Victorian-esque era, I always feel like I'm absolute shit at trying to get the language right. Sorry <33

It’d been some time since he’d returned to London, centuries if he was calculating correctly, when it had simply been a small city on the cusp of greatness courtesy of the Roman empire. Now it stood on its own merits, the new lights cutting through the evening darkness with nearly alarming efficiency. It ate away at Loki’s sovereign home, the dark night a cloak he relied on, and Loki wondered whether or not he’d made a mistake in leaving the home he’d set up in the quaint, unchanging world of Eastern Europe. Such thoughts vanished, however, as soon as he caught sight of the red-haired vision leaving the hall just up the way. He found a pocket of darkness to swallow him up, largely untouched by the light, so he could drink in the sight of her. 

Her skin was near translucent in the light, her hair a slow burning ember he desired to run his fingers through to see if she could impart some heat in his long since frigid world. He could almost forgive the travesties of the new lamp posts if only because they illuminated this glorious creature to him. He watched her smile at the woman who came out of the hall with her, the brunette Peggy Carter whose fiance Steven Rogers had been Loki’s inspiration in returning to the city at all. In the presence of this new temptation he nearly felt terrible for the state he’d left the Captain in. Nearly. 

The women were turning, their chaperone having finally exited along with them, to move down the street. The red head’s dress was a rich, royal blue color, the bodice tugging her body tight as the color insinuated that she belonged to the sea, that she was Aphrodite made human, and she certainly held herself like a goddess among mortal men. Loki salivated as he crept after them. He had to know her, had to  _ have  _ her, when he heard her mention a gala they would be attending in the next few weeks. That was his chance!

His teeth ached with longing, and he’d have to slake his thirst on someone far less satisfying, but it would suffice. This chase would be all worth while, of this he had no doubt. 

 

He had little difficulty in procuring an invitation to the event, having followed the gorgeous woman long enough to have learned that Tony Stark was throwing the party, and that  _ Natasha  _ would be single and unaccompanied by any gentleman other than her chaperone. It was nearly too perfect, and he was grinning as he set out to seek out this Tony Stark, making the preparations to attend and eclipse any other gentleman at the event. He’d have her for the whole evening, let the men and women in attendance talk, and then he’d have her for the rest of eternity. He had enough money to make himself seem important, and though Mr. Stark wasn’t all that interested in it, after Loki had promised to make a donation to the man’s charitable foundation for orphans, which the gala was sponsoring, he found himself granted admittance. The suit wouldn’t be difficult to come by, of this Loki knew, already making preparations in anticipating what it was Natasha would be wearing. Each evening as he drained a victim of his choosing he fantasized about what she would taste like, how he could get her alone long enough to make her his, how worth it the time spent in this odd city, with its new inventions and pressing population, would be. He’d drink deeply from his victim and imagine how good he would make it feel for her, how she would gasp and moan in his arms, charmed and seduced by the sensations he could pull out of her, until she’d never wish for anyone else in the world. 

 

He made sure to feed just hours before the gala, which didn’t begin until well after 8 in the evening and was sure to last far past midnight. He counted on it, arriving an hour late to slip into the crowds of people with ease. Stark was off near the head of the room, much to Loki’s delight, as it would be far simpler for him to find Natasha without the man interfering or introducing him to any and everyone there. Though whispered voices followed him wherever it was he went, wondering just who he was and how it was he’d gotten there, no one had the fortitude to come up to him and enquire, which was perfectly fine with Loki. He’d caught sight of Natasha, speaking animatedly with a blond, tall man, his build strong enough to make Loki stop in his tracks. But it wasn’t Steven Rogers, and it wasn’t his brother, so he pressed on, waiting until they’d finished before making his presence known. 

He offered her his most charming smile and bowed. She looked ravishing, and the deep hue of her green gown made his mouth water. The light illuminated the interest on her face, the arch of her eyebrow saying that she was most intrigued by his presence. At least he was guessing that was what she thought. “My lady, I was wondering if I might have this next dance?” 

He expected her to flutter and grin, utterly charmed, to accept his offer without a second thought, but the smile she shot him was a little more reserved than the one she’d previously offered. “I’m afraid my next dance is taken, sir. But thank you for the offer--.” 

“Loki, Laufeyson.” He had to force himself not to let his shock show. She was turning him down? How was that possible? “It’s a pleasure to meet you My lady.” He extended a hand, and she placed her hand in his. 

“Natasha Romanoff. I don’t believe I’ve seen you around, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

“I’ve only just recently moved to London for business.” He kept his smile as inviting and unassuming as possible. “It’s a lovely, lively city.”

“Yes, it is. Though you’ve come at quite the time, I’m afraid. Usually the city is a little more lively. Have you heard the news?” 

Yes, he had. He’d caused it, after all, and his expression turned solemn. He was eager to derail the conversation, but when she asked about where it was he came from he wasn’t so sure that was any better to talk about. No matter, patience was something he’d come to perfect in his time spent waiting on the living to come around. What was a few extra minutes, hours even, when the reward would be so sweet?

 

For their dance he stole her away, disappearing with her in his arms as they headed to the very back of Tony Stark’s estate, a vast labyrinth of hedges and sculptures decorating the extended property. Natasha smiled as they walked on, and without the watchful eyes of her chaperone she notably relaxed in his presence. The soft hum of music filtered behind their conversation, which had turned to her family. She was an orphan, living under the tutelage of an old uncle who was near death’s door, and she hoped to be married and away from him before his untimely death brought her down with it. No sooner were the words out of her mouth and she looked conflicted at having said such a disrespectful sentiment, apologizing quietly. 

“There’s no need to be sorry for being honest,” Loki assured her. His hand found hers and squeezed, delighting in watching her cheeks heat up at the impropriety of it all. They were alone, well and truly, and her face turned back towards the light of the closed doors far behind them. In the near silence he could hone in on her pulse, and breathed in deeply the smell of her anticipation and surprise at finding just how isolated he’d gotten her in the last few minutes. 

“Perhaps we ought to get back.” she said, looking over at him and offering up a smile that perhaps wasn’t the most insistent. She knew what it was she wanted, but it wasn’t acceptable, and as he registered that one of his hands shot up to stroke the soft skin of her cheek. 

“Darling, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Do you want to go back?” he asked, voice dark, riddled with the possibility of what would happen if they didn’t. If they stayed out there. His mouth watered, feeling her pulse leap this time rather than just hearing it. 

She wetted her lips, and shook her head. “No. I don’t.” 

That was all he needed to hear. He had her back up against one of the hedges, his mouth claiming hers, back bent to reach her diminutive form. He’d expected her to sigh into the pressure of his lips, to melt against him, not to surge up and meet him head on with a kiss that took  _ his  _ breath away. He moaned against her, the sound lurid and obscenely loud in his ears, as her hands clawed at his shoulders and dug into the skin of his neck. 

Had she been working him over this whole time, waiting until she’d gotten him alone? The cheek of this woman. He grinned, deepening the kiss, sucking on her bottom lip until it plumped and sang with her sweet blood. She whimpered, and his hands clutched her hips to hold her close to him, not wanting to wish her go. His lips passed over the spot where her throat and shoulders met, wishing to take his time, to savor the moment, and at the same time wishing to hurtle past it. He bit, and her sweet blood flooded his senses as she moaned filthily in his ears. 

She would be his, and his alone, forever. One simple month, and one bite, was all it would take. After all, he’d been hers from the first sight alone, and he was a patient man. 


	47. Pride and Prejudice Blackfrost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is one of my many projects that I just can't really see myself finishing, but it's 2k of words written, and I'd rather at least get out what I had done.   
> If anyone is interested in picking this up where I left off please! You're more than welcome to. I'd be glad to see this in someone else's capable hands, it's just been sitting in my drafts since the end of August and it deserves so much more than that.

The enormous town hall had been lit up for the celebration, shining, twinkling in the darkness like the rooftop of stars overhead. Each flame seemed to wink and beckon Natasha closer as she exited the carriage, Sif just behind with her family following shortly after. Natasha’s family, truly, in all but name. Her arm was wrapped with Sif’s, the wind catching the muted green and blue of their respective dresses as Natasha leaned in to whisper in the dark-haired woman’s ear. 

“You really think this’ll be as important as your mother says?” she asked, eyes bright as she turned to look at her closest friend at her side. Excitement colored Sif’s face and cheeks, and her teeth sank into her bottom lip as their feet crunched over the stone-laid path leading them closer. Muffled voices and violins warming up filtered outside on the lazy autumn wind, which continued to toy with their skirts and hair. Now that they were finally so close Natasha felt her heart leap into her throat. 

“Depends. If he’s as rich as they say he is then I’ll hardly be the only girl striving for his attention,” Sif reminded her, the look on her face telling Natasha plain as daylight that her spirits weren’t as high as when they’d been on the way. Gone was the cool grace under pressure that Nat had always associated with the woman, and for one blinding moment fear replaced it. Natasha squeezed her arm. 

“You are the most beautiful woman in the whole country. If he cannot see that then there is simply no hope for the entire gender,” Natasha assured her. Their eyes met, and with an easy smile to placate Sif’s ragged nerves, Natasha reached over to smooth a wayward strand of black hair from her face. Not even the wind messed with it after that. “Now. We  _ are  _ going to have an excellent time, or with without Mr. Odinson’s attention. Yes?” 

There was a hesitation, one that made even Nat’s heart falter, before Sif nodded her assent and her smile returned in full force. “Yes, of course. You’re right.” Her whole face softened, placated. “What would I do without you?” 

“Stay home and become a spinster, I suppose. Leave it to your brother to support you--which, mark you, isn’t so bad an option. At least Heimdall is excellent at his job.” 

That earned her a hip check and the movement brought a laugh to Natasha’s lips as the pair stepped inside, releasing arms so that Sif could step through the not-so wide door first, Nat’s eyes quick to take in the room. It was large, grandly decorated for the evening with vases filled to bursting of white, sweet smelling flowers. Just through the entrance room she heard the rest of the instruments strike up a quick, lively tune. It fed the smile that had already started on her face, breathing life into it so that when she turned to Sif it was more than enough to melt away any last reservations the woman might’ve had. Dancing was, by far, one of Natasha’s favorite past times. There were too few diversions throughout the day, too many important matters that offered her little time to let her mind rest or to bring her joy, so she took whatever it was that she could get. And being swept off her feet with a man’s arm around her waist, or else allowed to chatter under the cover of the orchestra’s music without being disturbed? There was nothing like it. 

Finding partners was easy. There were far more women than men, this was true, but between Sif’s dark, calm grace that seemed to naturally attract even the most shy of suitors, and Natasha’s coquette smile and fearlessness they ended up with a pair of fine older gentlemen who were more than accomplished at whirling them around the room. The lights made Nat’s head spin as they swirled, and she couldn’t help but laugh as they blurred into an enormous fireball, catching on the dark wooden panels of the hall, the heat of the room mixing with the warm blood coursing through her veins courtesy of the two cups of wine she’d had. Why would she ever want to get married when this was so much  _ fun _ ? 

Her merriment was cut short halfway through the second song as the dancers came to a stand still on the floor, and Natasha’s attention whipped over to find a trio standing at the edge of the dancers, two very tall gentlemen and one fearsome woman with hair a little darker than Natasha’s own. The blond had a kind smile already in place, his eyes bright blue and good natured. She liked that about him, she found, even without having met him. That would have been Thor Odinson, she’d have bet her life on it. His clothing certainly fit the bill, though his companion was dressed just as finely. Now he was another story. Whereas his friend--she assumed--was all warm smiles and broad shoulders that could make any woman swoon, this man looked to be cut from marble, with high cheekbones and green eyes sharper than an officer’s blade. He didn’t miss a thing, and as the trio stepped through the cleared line the dancers had left she caught his gaze. Held it. There was no missing the surprise in his gaze, nor how he had to snap his head to the front once they’d gotten far enough away to prevent himself from dawdling. Hm. 

The moment that they stopped at the head of the room, welcomed by the mayor who’d put on the festivities, the music began once again, and Natasha’s partner took her hand and squeezed it tight to indicate he was ready to begin again. Somehow it lost the same pep as before, though she kept her smile firmly in place to prevent from offending the man. Honestly, their egos were so fragile she found it ridiculous that they could manage to do anything without suffering serious, personal blows to their mental health. 

He was good for something else, though, as it turned out. It turned out Natasha had been right about the blond, kind looking one being Thor, and while his female companion, Angela, was a sister, the dark haired one was a good friend. “Loki Laufeyson. He’s worth ten-thousand a year, and he’s Mr. Odinson’s best friend.” 

Natasha wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him correctly. Ten thousand pounds? A year? What on earth was he doing  _ there _ , then? She thanked him for the information and for the dance before turning on her heel to find Sif. What good fortune for that, too, as Sif had just turned to beckon Natasha closer as well, her mother already leading ahead to where Mr. Odinson and Mr. Laufeyson were standing. With a couple murmured apologies she hastened her way through the crowd, popping up at her best friend’s side just as Sif’s father was making the introductions. Once more, Loki’s gaze met Natasha’s and held it hard enough that it might’ve made another woman flush from the attentions. It only intrigued her more, though, and she curtseyed once she was introduced. 

“Are you having a pleasant time, ladies?” Thor asked, his grin wide enough that Nat’s cheeks began to hurt staring at it, but his eyes were bright as he watched Sif smile as well. 

“We are, thank you Mr. Odinson,” Natasha said when words failed Sif, shooting a quick, surprised glance at her friend. It wasn’t like her to not respond quickly, and she nudged her friend gently with her elbow. What was she doing?

“Have you been to town for long, sir?” Sif finally found her tongue, her cheeks reddening from being caught so unaware. And Natasha couldn’t blame her, he was absolutely handsome with his broad shoulders and kind eyes, but still. They’d met many an attractive man, and Sif had never been so lost for words. Oh well, it was done with now she supposed, and the conversation between the two took off from there. Natasha looked to Angela, the sister, wondering whether or not she would be amiable enough to begin conversing with, but her attention couldn’t have been any less focused on them. 

That just left--. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Laufeyson,” she said, snapping her attention back to the dark haired man, watching the way that the light caught his cheekbones and made his gaze flare. “Have you been to this part of the country before?” 

“Some time ago.” His voice was curt and she bit her tongue in surprise at it. What had she done to offend him? Was he under the assumption that he was somehow better than she was because he made ten thousand a year? The thought was preposterous. If he was so inclined to think so highly of himself why had he bothered to show up at all? She turned her gaze away, finding him less interesting than she’d hoped for him, fingers twisting in her lap for lack of anything better to do. She wouldn’t abandon Sif to speak with the three of them and fend for herself but how she longed to dance--. 

“I don’t suppose you dance, do you?” She turned her best smile to Mr. Laufeyson, whose gaze snapped down to hold her own. 

“I do not.” The strength of his attention nearly made her blush, and she was beginning to feel herself shift her weight from foot to foot under it. What was he playing at? 

Fine. “A pity, I suppose I’ll leave you to the company of your own thoughts, then.” Her smile tightened, and she dipped her head to say goodbye. Sif and Thor were deep in conversation, Thor having stepped closer, his face softening as their conversation grew quiet and private, so Natasha wouldn’t be missed. She was glad of it. It was about time that Sif had some fun in her life. Two years her senior, Sif had confessed on several evenings that she was terrified of ending like her eldest aunt, alone and a burden to her family. If tonight went as they all hoped, Natasha didn’t think that would be the case at all. 

With little else to do she returned to the dance floor, and was delighted to see that Thor and Sif joined as soon as the next song started. She rejoiced in Sif’s good fortune, that Thor could hardly take his eyes off of her even as Sif’s own gaze stayed straight ahead. She could only hope to hear what it was they discussed later in the evening, when Sif would undoubtedly recount it all for her tucked under the sheets of the bed they shared. 

As for Mr. Laufeyson, she didn’t have to look over at him to know that he continued to watch her still, and frankly it was beginning to unnerve her. Had she done something wrong to warrant his general distaste for her? Had she offended him with her questions? He made no sense, and while she had a difficult time riddling out men from the very beginning this one was a particular enigma that she couldn’t help but wish to puzzle out. Still, she continued to dance on, smiling as though nothing had happened, as though his rebuking of her questions and attempts to get to know him hadn’t meant a thing to her. Every twisting step brought her a step closer to Thor and Sif dancing together, and every time she got the chance she couldn’t help but wonder whether he was going to get to his knees right then and there and ask her to marry him he looked so entranced with her. 

It was exactly what Sif deserved, and Natasha couldn’t have been happier for her. 

 

As expected they compared experiences that evening under the covers, by light of the candles that still burned on their bedside tables. Sif’s mother, Natasha’s guardian, had been kind enough to replay the entire evening they’d just lived, as though they hadn’t been paying attention. Still the enthusiasm was a treat from the usual complaints about the other daughters of the town finding husbands. Now, Nat’s own mouth spread in a wide smile, the past irritants disappeared. All that mattered was the giddy Sif in front of her, stifling her own happy laughter with a hand over her mouth, her brown eyes shining. 

“I still can’t believe it actually happened. I feel as though I’m about to wake up any moment now.” 

“I assure you, that was as real as anything,” Natasha said, taking her friend’s hand away from her mouth and squeezing it tight before pressing her lips to the back of it. “He only had eyes for you, Sif. I swear, I thought he might drop to his knees any moment and propose, damn the propriety of it.” 

Sif’s eyes went wide and her giggling grew louder at Natasha’s language. “He would never!” 

“He might,” Natasha teased, winking. “He’s in love with you, Sif, already. Anyone can see that.” 

“Would that his companion not have been so rude. I still cannot believe how he acted towards you,” Sif said. Her expression morphed, her own happiness put aside so as to comfort Natasha, who snorted and rolled her eyes. 

“He may act as he like, I don’t think I’ll see him again. Ten-thousand a year or not, I’m convinced there could not be a less happy man than Mr. Laufeyson, and that’s not someone I wish to consort with.”

“Would that I meet with Mr. Odinson again, I’ll see if I cannot discover something about his taciturn friend,” Sif promised her, scooting over to close the distance between them and kiss the top of Natasha’s head. Nat felt her gut tighten and her smile grow as Sif pulled away. 

“You’re a dear friend, and if I wasn’t so curious I’d tell you not to bother, but I can’t help but wonder at it myself.” Natasha sighed, shaking her head and feeling a strange heat begin to curl up her cheeks. “I’ve found that I don’t care for most men, but I’ll go as far to venture a guess as to think that he’s the most unpleasant man I’ve ever met.” 

“Not every gentleman is as sweet as Papa is,” Sif warned her, tucking a red curl behind Natasha’s ear. 

Nat grinned. “Thor is.” 

That sent the pair of them into excited peals of laughter again before general exhaustion overcame them. Nat pulled herself free from the covers to lean over and blow the candle out. Tomorrow would be a new day, and for Sif she hoped the week would provide another excuse to meet with Thor. She tried to pretend that her mind wasn’t eager to at least investigate the mysterious Mr. Laufeyson again, but fell asleep thinking of how it felt to have his eyes on her all evening, how a strange heat had begun in her chest and wormed its way upward into her brain. It was just the wine, she reminded herself before she closed her eyes. It couldn’t have been anything else. 


	48. Myth!Sif Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was the beginning of this idea I had for an Asgardian exploration in worldbuilding, basically. It would've been a fic between Sif and Amora, and this was the beginning of it but . . . that inspiration has long since died out.   
> It's not all that much, but I've been proud of this little snippet, and how it helped me come to terms with who Sif was, even given that it's so short.   
> <3

The first time Sif learned what beauty could do, how powerful and important it could be, had been when Loki had chopped her hair off. Her locks had been compared to gold itself by the suitors that had surrounded her growing up, though she’d been shy and hid behind it nonetheless.  Those who knew her the least had called her silence and her refusal to answer the catcalls and attentions of the young men around her vanity, saying that she thought herself too good for the rest of them.  Above them.  Loki had grown weary of her own constant rejections, trying to pull her attention away from Thor, who she’d fostered a softness for all her life, and so in the dead night had snuck into her house and snipped at the silken locks that had once bounced around her face as she ran from market to home, had been tied up with flowers and leaves when she and her brother had used to play in the forests of Asgard long before his watch had started at the Bifrost.  

She woke up, light and empty headed, and ran a hand through the phantom curls that had once been enough to call her beautiful, and then, when she looked in the mirror, only seemed a cruel joke.  Her mother had screamed, her father had gone to Odin to demand justice, and Sif had simply stared at the reflection, running small, thin fingers through thinner tufts of what had turned into yellow twine.  

When Loki returned from Nidavellir with gold to recreate her hair, looking proud and sullen at both his accomplishments and Odin’s demands to make reparation, Sif had watched him with dispassionate curiosity.  Long had she watched him moon over her blonde hair, and with the new locks in tow what was to stop him, or any of them, from finding her more desirable?  Better to let it grow back once more, better to suffer and be taken seriously, rather than to be reduced once more to the title of beautiful, or lovely.  So when the locks turned black, and her mother fainted from disbelieving shock, Sif took them in hand and tugged, trying to make certain that they were real and that Loki’s supposed gift was just that: a gift.  No more would she be thought of as an object of affection and desire, and though her father wept and Loki suffered for his supposed trickery, she couldn’t help but be grateful for the blunder.  

 


	49. Avengers Sense8 Rewrite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have the beginnings of a Sense8 Rewrite I'd convinced myself to write, had gotten all excited about . . . and have since not touched since Mid-July. If anyone was ever interested in writing it, I'd be more than happy to read it! It's just not quite my thing atm.   
> There's two chapters, one finished, one stopped in the middle, so I apologize for how out of sorts it is, but I figured it's better to put it all up on one doc than on two short ones.

Natasha

 

She’s spinning, that’s how she knows she’s dreaming. Her dreams always begin with pirouettes, pointed feet hidden in well-used ballet slippers, extensions held until she thinks her legs will shatter and her head burst from fear of failure. Not just her own,  _ never  _ just her own. Would that her mind was simply her own. Blood begins to soak the tips of her shoes--she’s burst through the skin of her toes again, but still she spins, pushing the pain with every twist. Her body only stops when her hands are in front of her face, eyes downcast and palms out, fingers spread wide. Envy surges through her gut and she nearly wobbles with the force of it. Instead her toes dig further into her shoes, calves tense. Someone on the other side is smoking and her mouth burns with the taste of shitty tobacco. 

With an approving clap she’s released from the pose, a gun pressed into her hands before they can fall into parade form. Her spine straightens. 

“Shoot yourself,” a calm, female voice breathes behind her, the pressure of her performance falling on her well-worn shoulder blades. She’s aware of the audience her dancing has drawn, the crowds of people standing and applauding as she palms the gun, feels its weight. Feels  _ his  _ weighted gaze on her back, burning her skin. 

“Kill yourself. Save them.” 

The taste of metal outweighs the cigarette smoke and hot envy in her blood, the weight of the barrel between her teeth and on her tongue sweeter than a lover’s kiss. The click of the hammer slithering down her spine mirrors the crack of her realigning bones as--. 

 

\--

 

Natasha sat up with a gasp that barely hid her scream, blinking quickly to see if she couldn't burn the dream out of her mind’s eye. Sweat covered her from head to toe, and she flung the covers off to feel the cool breeze of Manhattan air race over her skin. Nowhere near as comforting as Moscow’s chilled summers, but she’d take it. She still tasted metal and nicotine as she flexed her toes and checked the bottoms of her feet. Fine. All fine. Only then did she breathe evenly, did she shake off the fluttering anxiety that filled her every pore. 

She was tired of these stupid dreams growing worse and felt the familiar ache starting to settle between her eyes. She massaged the furrowed skin of her forehead with rough fingertips, chewing on her tongue to keep from cursing. She’d hoped that starting anew, starting out of the country that had since been her home, would begin to alleviate the tension that built, stacked one brick atop another, on her slight frame. 

Her room was a furnace, even with the uncharacteristically cool breeze lilting in through the window by her bed. At least the wooden boards were cool beneath her feet as she padded through the darkened room towards the kitchen where her refrigerator hummed. She licked her chapped lips. There was a bottle of vodka calling her name from its freezer home, and when she pulled it out and uncapped the bottle the alcohol slithered, smooth and refreshing, down her throat. A shudder raced up her spine, gooseflesh fanning her skin. After another swig, she capped the bottle and pushed the ice-coated glass against the back of her neck. A moan passed through parted lips. That was much better. She half thought of going back to bed with it, pressing it to the curve of her neck’s base to help keep her chilled. She was far too familiar, still, with Russia’s winter. With the press of her Cluster sister’s bodies up against her own.

She scratched at her left forearm, lips twisting in frustration at the itch that went beneath the first layer of skin, that seemed to lodge itself into her bones. Yelena’s fingers had gripped her there so tight she’d thought the blonde would rip through the muscle and tendons, right before Natalia had put a bullet in her brain. 

_ “Don’t do this--we’re your sisters!” _

She winced at the memory.  _ Natalia’s  _ memory. 

She was Natasha now. She breathed deep through Natasha’s lungs, closed Natasha’s eyes as she counted backwards from ten.  _ Natasha  _ needed to get a grip. The past wasn’t getting any better, or any worse. Only the highlights stood out, and she took solace in thinking that in time those might fade, too. Only once she reached zero did she open her eyes again and relax her fingers one by one. The nails of her left hand had dug into the wood of her kitchen table, mirroring preexisting marks on the opposite side where she’d dug a bullet out of her right hip half a year ago. Well, memories were pain, and pain was nothing she wasn’t familiar with, whether she was Natalia or Natasha. With a quiet sigh she pulled herself up from the chair, dragging her feet and the bottle of vodka back with her to her bedroom just in time to hear the buzzing of her phone from its place on the wooden bedside table. Well, if she couldn’t sleep, then at least work might provide a decent relief. 

“Romanoff,” she answered, voice a touch more brusque than intended. She softened her shoulders, closed her eyes and let Clint’s voice on the other end fill the receiver. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

“You didn’t.” 

Silence fell as he contemplated her answer, put two and two together as he’d always been able to when it came to her. “Couldn’t sleep either?” He finally guessed, the sound of a car door shutting in the background on his end. She sat down on the edge of her bed, palming the bottle. It wasn’t work, but at least it was a distraction. 

“I don’t really want to right now,” she said, her one-shouldered shrug tipping her voice. “You?”

A long sigh came from his lips. She could all but picture him tipping his head back until it hit the headrest of his car’s seat. “Yeah. Same. It’s completely overrated, anyway.” 

That made her laugh. There had been days she’d gone without rest until she had stopped missing it by the time she was allowed to shut her eyes. The first 48 hours were the hardest, but the second had gone by without her hardly batting a lash. 

“Completely. You want to talk about it?” 

“No. Do you?” 

Not at all. She bit her bottom lip, eyes staring through the window at the empty, black room just across from her own. “You know what they say about denial?” 

He let out a snort that had her smiling. “That it’s a freaking ocean?” 

“It runs backwards.” 

He chewed on that for a couple minutes, a low humming filling in for anything verbal he might want to say as he considered how to respond. She undid the cap on the vodka and took another sip of it. The chill was less biting this time, a stronger comfort. 

“We’ve really got to work on your puns. They’re not funny enough, Tasha.” 

She rolled her eyes, swallowing the gulp she’d taken from the bottle, the biting after hardly affecting her. How often had she stolen sips growing up from the older trainers, had she and her cluster sisters sat sharing the bottle? 

“My puns are fine, thank you very much.”

“Right. Says the girl that doesn’t speak English.” 

She muttered at him to shut up in Russian and it brought him to laugh. She, too, couldn’t help but grin, and as soon as they’d clicked off she laid back in bed. 4 AM stared up at her, blinked dangerously before turning into 4:01. Just a few more hours. Just a few more. 

 

\--

 

Steve

 

It’d been five weeks, three days, and eight hours or so since he’d officially been out of the ice, and still the woman at base he was forced to see three times a week kept saying he needed more time. It was all that Steve could do to keep from scoffing, from rolling his eyes at the absurdity of her suggestions. More time? To rest, to replenish himself?

Wasn’t 70 in the ice enough? What more could his body need?

“I understand that you’ve been through loss, Steve, and coming to terms with it.” The woman in front of him had meant well, he could tell by the way she’d smiled. She, along with his superiors at SHIELD, really thought therapy was the answer to all his problems, that somehow just talking about what had happened in the 40s, what he’d done to himself, might help everything heal over. Might help him recover missing seven decades worth of living because he hadn’t thought that there’d be enough time for him to actually come up with a suitable solution. Like reliving his decision, his many suicidal tendencies both pre and post serum, would help him come to grips with it all. It was a damn miracle that his jaw hadn’t broken how hard he clenched it these days,

For the first five weeks, one day, and two hours and counting he’d gone along with the idea of talking it out, had thought maybe if he’d played along he’d get away with doing less. He’d smiled, bobbed his head at the appropriate time, tapped his fingers at the increasingly invasive questions and wishing he hadn’t forgone grabbing something to doodle on. There was only so often he could stand hearing them bring up his Commandos, Peggy. B--. 

It was getting to be too much. Good intentions or not it wasn’t doing him any freaking favors. Sleep evaded him, especially after a particularly detailed therapy session, hiding at the back of his mind as though he needed help remembering that because he’d slept so much, because he’d forced himself to go down with Red Skull’s ship he’d lost just about everything. 

No, most nights his real therapy involved sinking his taped up knuckles into the punching bags at the gym nearest his Brooklyn brownstone. The bag didn’t press him with questions about his guilt, just accepted blow after blow without judgement or question, without any glances over its half-a-thousand-dollar glasses, without scribbling any notes onto a sheet of paper he bet his life wound its way onto Fury’s desk, no matter how dull the material of the meeting. In the privacy of the empty room each evening he could unload without fear of judgement or condescendingly understanding humming and nodding. He hated that, hated that he’d begun to parrot it back to his shrink. An appropriate nod here, a hum of him understanding her question there. All the while served up with a dose of “we’re just doing this to help you.” Not that they weren’t cataloguing him and his every reaction to determine just how messed up he’d become. She couldn’t begin to understand what it was he’d lost. He doubted there was anyone still alive who could. 

What he and his crew had shared . . . there weren’t words for that. Weren’t words enough in the English dictionary, no matter how advanced it’d become. He hadn’t told his therapist that, hadn’t explained how it was they’d somehow managed to work as one individual even with there being eight of them. It was beyond words, beyond comprehending for someone who wasn’t part of their group. Beyond understanding, and the last thing he wanted was extra therapy because she thought he was going crazy. 

So the biting of his tongue continued in the day, the understanding, comprehensive nodding continued, and he swore his tongue had grooves that would never heal over from how often he’d clamped down to keep his temper in check. The sooner he finished the farce the better, he told himself as he burst through another bag, sweat coating his forehead and dripping into his eyes. The sooner he was cleared for duty and could get back to work, the better. 

 

\--

 

Clint

“God, you’re like a damn schoolgirl, aren’t you?” Clint grinned and leaned backwards against the wall of Phil Coulson’s office. His broad arms shifted to fold over his chest as Phil shuffled through the file on his desk. The photograph of Steve Rogers pre-Captain America days, accompanied by the most recent picture of him since he’d come into SHIELD custody stared up at the ceiling. Even though he hadn’t seen him, he’d recognize that face, that jawline from the vintage trading cards that Phil had shown him. It was a damn miracle the man wasn’t stroking the jawline of the super-soldier pictured in front of him, that drool hadn’t escaped the corners of his mouth. Not that Clint could really blame him, even as mild jealousy coiled tight in the pit of his gut at the thought of what might happen when the two actually met. It was only a matter of time, and really Clint was ecstatic for Phil’s good fortune. Not everyone got to meet their boyhood hero, let alone one that’d been MIA and freaking frozen for 70 or so years. The discovery of the eternal Captain America had been all his handler had talked about between their few missions, and infectious though his enthusiasm was . . . Clint tried not to take Phil’s excited babble too seriously. 

Not everyone benefitted from meeting their idols. Clint hadn’t. 

“I am not.” Phil rolled his eyes, closing the file with a definitive thud as he stared over at Clint. “But even if I was could you blame me? Whatever they did to him--that long in the ice, Clint. Cryogenics aside, with how long it likely took for him to actually freeze over it ought to have killed him. Made him brain-dead even. This?” He thumped the closed file and Clint hid his clenching fists behind him as Phil’s expression turned soft. “This is amazing.” 

( _ Dammit Coulson was his  _ superior _ , he shouldn’t get a stupid flutter in his gut like that at the thought of Phil looking at  _ him  _ like that. _ )

“Besides,” Phil added, and his gaze turned an odd shade of excited that had Clint thinking back to how his stomach had used to somersault as he would struggle with learning the tightrope, or some new over the top trick. 

“There’s talk that he and his commandos, and Peggy Carter, had a bond like what you used to. Might be something to learn there.” 

Clint’s fluttering, nervous stomach ate the proverbial mat of reality hard, leadened, and sent an ache through his body that screamed at him to fucking  _ run _ . 

“Really?” His voice was dry. He cleared his throat. “Here I was thinking Nat and I were two weirdly special cases. Wow.” The smile that filled his face couldn’t have been any more fake. His cheeks ached. He cleared his throat once more, staring at the spot just above Phil’s head to avoid looking into his handler’s blue-grey gaze that saw a great deal more than Clint was comfortable showing. Besides, if he didn’t look down he could pretend that his handler didn’t know what he was doing. “I’ve got that detail in Puente Antiguo. You coming?” 

“I’ll be just behind you.” Phil was a good man, this Clint knew. Knew, and exploited. No other handler would let Clint get away with that shit, with ignoring the enormous, old elephant in the room that trumpeted with glee whenever it got too quiet between the two. 

“Right. See you there, sir.” Clint shot him one last grin. His hands relaxed only once the nerves on his palms started aching. WIth light fingers, Clint turned the knob on his left hearing aid all the way down, ignoring the trembling of his fingertips the way he fully intended on ignoring any and everyone who so much as looked his way. 

Too bad there wasn’t some sort of internal hearing aid, one that would mute the voice in his head hissing that he was a chicken shit coward. He didn’t have it in him to disagree. Subconsciously, he grabbed at his phone and activated the com in his right ear so as to call Nat. Her voice would be a welcome distraction, and he had a long drive ahead of him. He could use as much of a distraction as he could get. 

 

2.

Natasha 

She really hated free time. Abhorred it, even. There’d never been a need for it before she’d come over to SHIELD, never would’ve imagined there would  _ be  _ a need for it, but apparently there was a certain amount required even for a Russian spy to partake in. Ex-Russian. The spy she’d once been, the  _ being  _ whose life she’d watched from behind blinder guided eyes would’ve scoffed, called her an idiot. Weak. A plethora of other creative insults to hide that she really had no idea what free time was and therefore distrusted it without reason. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, Natasha allowed herself to languish in a lack of things to do, in an empty docket. Six AM casually greeted her with a couple spare rays of summertime sunshine to illuminate the floor she’d do her morning push-ups, blanks, and yoga routine on. 8 AM meant a quick trip to the tap to fill her water bottle before her jog around the awakening city. If she was lucky she could hide easily enough within the crowded New York streets, red curls tucked behind a thick headband. It never got easier, the whole not looking over her shoulder thing. Crowds were easy to hide in, but a high body count was never something she was looking to add to. She had enough to worry about as far as that was concerned. 

Not that that would stop whatever idiot decided to come after her, whichever cocky son of a bitch that thought to pick a fight. Though she’d relish the opportunity to break the monotony, she didn’t have time for the nonsense, and didn’t want anyone else getting hurt just because it would liven up her day. She nearly punched herself for the thought, pushing her body to break into a run, the pace punishing even for her body, forcing her to keep her head clear at the same time. 

Thoughts like that would get her into trouble. Thoughts like  _ that _ would end in civilian fatalities, and she was working to avoid those no matter what the situation. Bored or not, she’d take a day without the death of someone else on her conscious as a success. 

  
  


Steve

As he listened to the record player crooning in the corner of the room, Steve felt his mind beginning to wander. More often than not Steve missed being surrounded by people. Brooklyn was still the busy place it had always ever been, and there was never a shortage of noise coming from outside his window. His neighbors seemed polite and quiet enough, but on the street no one held back. Shouting competitions were held in person or over the phone, echoing around the slowly being filled living room of his apartment, but it never felt as though he was ever there, or that anyone else was. Money that had spent decades invested and held, safe, within the bank along with what was owed him in back pay helped to afford his furnishings, but even with the noise and the sofa, bookshelf half filled (courtesy of his friendly neighbor, Sharon), and the record player, it didn’t ever seem like a home. 

Home was a rusted, spider-web ridden cage of an apartment three blocks away and further into the bad part of the neighborhood. Home was boiled potatoes and grace muttered hastily in Gaelic, passed from his grandmother to his mother, then to him. Home was a pair of work calloused hands patching his face up after a friendly disagreement over right and wrong in some unmarked back alleyway, familiar lips twisting in an easy smile. 

Home was “punk” and “jerk.” This cardboard box was where his belongings rested but his home had fallen away from him in the winter some 70 years ago, hands reaching to catch him. 

His chest ached at the thought and he turned his attention the sketch in front of him that he’d lost focus of. Bucky’s eyes were missing the light he’d always had when he laughed. Dum Dum’s expression was off, Morita’s face looked too inched. With an aggravated scowl he balled the drawing up and threw it into the crash can on the other side of the room. He could see them so vibrantly in his mind’s eye, could feel them, how their laughter rolled through his body as though it was yesterday, and not several decades ago. SO why couldn’t he get it out onto the paper? He dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his hair and skull. His head buzzed and his temples pounded as, for one horrible second, the image began to blur and disappear from his mind’s eye entirely--. 

His phone buzzed and trilled on the other side of the table, snapping his head up. He could count on one hand the number of people who he’d given his number to, and he couldn’t imagine any of them calling him on a Tuesday afternoon. Picture forgotten, he picked up on the third ring, touch his oddly wet cheek as he cleared his throat. When had he started crying? 

“Rogers,” he said, voice gruff, more so than he’d intended. He cleared his throat again. 

“Hey.” The female’s voice on the other end was hoarse, sultry, reminding him of the crooning blonde at the corner club he and Buck had visited once or twice before. “You don’t know me yet but we work together. Or we will. I’m dead bored, anyway. You interested in getting lunch?” 

His mouth went dry as he worked to process everything. They worked together? 

“Ma’am, no disrespect but are you sure you have the right number?” It was possible for them to get mixed up after all, wasn’t it? One wrong number in a sequence and she could’ve called someone on the other side of the country for all he knew. 

Her sigh on the other side was audible, and she muttered something under her breath that sounded like Russian. “You’re Captain Steven Grant Rogers, once of the Howling Commandos task force,” she intoned. “Now yu work for Nick Fury and occupy one of the top spots of the list of potential candidates for the Avengers Initiative. Sound like I got the right guy?” She sounded less than thrilled at his disbelief and his cheeks began to redden even if she couldn’t see him. She sounded like she had her brows raised in disbelief, as though wondering why he’d bothered second guessing. 

“If not you just gave away a whole lot of information.” he said, voice quiet. 

A pause, then she laughed, the noise throaty and infectious. “Suppose I did. Well Cap, let’s go get food. Wherever you want.”

“Generous coming from a nameless voice on the other end.” To his surprise he found himself smiling, unable to help it. Gone was the deadpan from before and she sounded amused now. It was intriguing, and well, he was dead bored. 

Again, she laughed quietly. “Natasha. Now, where are we going?” 

 


	50. Wanda/Natasha prompt for Frostbite883

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: "Can you do a prompt with MCU Wanda is trying to get Natasha to make their new relationship official instead of continuing to treat it as an unofficial thing? "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this kinda turned out a little strange, style wise. I just ran with it because I feel terrible for having put it off for so long, I hope it makes sense and reads well enough!   
> Turned out rather fluffy, too. Wtf is wrong with me?   
> Happy Femslash Feb!

It wasn’t that Wanda wasn’t appreciative of what they had, not that at all. The last few months with Natasha, in between missions and training, had been some of the happiest Wanda had been in a long time. Nat had been the one to pick up the sharp and unstable pieces after Pietro’s death, had been the one to gently fit them back together until some semblance of the woman Wanda had once been stood in her place, and had been patient as a saint in waiting for Wanda to help set them in place. They’d spent countless nights wrapped in each other’s embrace, Wanda draped in Natasha’s coat, her arms wrapped around the small spy’s waist as Nat breathed in the calm between them. With Natasha, Wanda had learned how she could control her emotions rather than falling prey to their ever changing whims, had discovered how to tether herself to the world of the living instead of dipping into the intoxicating desire to find Pietro and disappear as he had. 

Hell, she’d even told Natasha that she loved her with their fingers laced together, Nat’s head resting on Wanda’s chest. The redhead had hummed and looked up at her with eyes brighter than the sun and a smile that nearly stopped Wanda’s heart before she leaned up to press a kiss to her lover’s lips. “I love you, too,” Natasha had whispered when she’d pulled away to breathe, full lips warm as they slid across Wanda’s. Wanda’s knees went weak at the confession, having expected she wouldn’t hear it. 

Yet nothing had changed between them. None of their teammates knew that they were together, Natasha not having told them and Wanda not having wanted to go ahead and say something if Nat wasn’t feeling the same way. Perhaps that was just Natasha’s way of dealing with situations such as this, but it clawed at Wanda’s breast when she laid by herself at night and her insecurity whispered in the back of her mind. Natasha had a long history of exes, of complicated relationships that she’d explained to Wanda when she’d asked, but had never brought up the possibility of them being anything else other than good friends. Friends who slept together, confided in one another. Loved each other. 

Wanda waited. She gave it two weeks before she swore she’d go crazy if she had to wait any longer. There was only so much speculating she could do, her mind still reeling from the loss of Pietro that if she lost Natasha too . . . . 

And then there came the idea that Nat was only doing this to keep Wanda sane, to keep her from going off the wall and on the Avenger’s side. Those thoughts didn’t let her sleep, didn’t let her eat for days at a time, so by the time she struck up the courage to corner the red head and smash her lips against Nat’s in the small kitchen where the others had congregated, she really wasn’t thinking clearly. 

Beneath her Natasha went rigid, and Wanda was sure that she’d be pushed off, heralded as a lunatic and disbanded from the small, fragmented home she’d tried to build for herself. She thought she might die from pleasure as Nat returned the favor, fingers skirting on the edge of Wanda’s hip as she held her, before pulling away for want of air. 

“What was that about?” Nat asked, voice hoarse as they pointedly ignored the heat of the three others staring at them, Steve, Sam, and Rhodey all unsure about what they’d just seen. Vision must not have found it all that surprising. 

“I just--I don’t want to hide this anymore.” Wanda swallowed thickly, looking down at Nat, waiting for the words to come, for Nat to pull away and explain to her that too bad, as was Wanda’s lot in life not everything was going to go the way she wanted. 

Instead, Natasha’s lips spread into a grin. “You don’t? I thought--with all the secrecy--you’d rather keep it private?”

Wanda felt her lips twitch, her heart thudding in her ears. So she wasn’t going crazy? “No. Not at all.” 

Natasha took Wanda’s right hand in her own, locking their fingers together and bringing the back of Wanda’s palm up to her lips to kiss, before she turned to the three flabbergasted men sitting at the kitchen bar. “So. We’re together.” 

Before Sam could let out the “no, shit” he’d been holding in, Wanda tipped Nat’s chin upwards and crushed their lips together again. 

 


	51. Reylo Firefighter/EMT Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Anon on Tumblr during my last drunken blogging shenanigans

Rey groaned as she pulled her helmet up and off of her head, the fire behind them nothing but dying, sad embers of what had once been a house. They were still working to see just what it was that caused it, and she uncapped one of the bottles of water they’d brought in the truck to chug it in three slow gulps. Sweat had beaded on her forehead, dripping down the sides of her face, as her gaze sought out the flashing lights of the ambulance just a few feet away from the perimeter Poe and Finn had set up when they’d first arrived. The adrenaline coursing through her body pushed away the ache of her muscles as she strode towards it, eyes seeking out the man who she’d pulled from inside after he’d collapsed. 

It was a relief to see that he was sitting up and chatting slowly with a tall, lanky figure Rey knew all too well, and she allowed herself a small grin as the civilian’s eyes fell on her. 

“There’s the girl that got me! Though I didn’t know you were a girl when you did. You’re strong.” He was rambling, likely the result of whatever sort of pain killer or calming agent that the EMT had given him, and it made Rey smile. 

“You’re not as heavy as you look. Promise. Everything okay here?” she asked, her gaze turning only to find Ben Solo already looking at her, one of his eyebrows rising. 

“You know, you keep charging in like that before assessing the situation and you’re going to be the one needing a check up.” There was an underlying thread of truth in the sentence, though at first listen he sounded more bemused than anything. 

The corners of her lips twisted up. “It’ll give you an excuse to finally see what’s under my uniform, at least.” 

“Then by all means, please. Continue.” 

She had to reach up to pat him on the shoulder, her smirk spreading into a grin. “Oh, keep dreaming Solo.” She turned  away, hearing Poe calling her name, and took off back towards the truck at a run, the sirens already starting up again. 

The civilian looked slowly from Ben to Rey’s retreating form, then back to Ben. “You should probably marry her. You might make a police officer between the pair of you.” 

“And you’re under the influence of some _pretty strong_ painkillers. Lie down, sir. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.” He didn’t deny it, though.


	52. Reylo Truth or Dare Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by luvkurai on my tumblr

“Favorite holofilm?” Kylo asked, reclining on the cool metal wall opposite her. 

Rey rolled her eyes. “Wow. You’re original.” They were stuck in the belly of an old freighter, no hope of getting out till the gas that had gathered outside the sealed, solid door disappated. “I haven’t seen any.” Their lightsabers had been discarded in favor of the both of them staying alive to fight another day, and what minimal conversation they’d had between them had quickly dissolved into this game, this question of who would snap first and ask for a reprieve. 

“Not any?”

“There weren’t any on Jakku. You can understand.” She was growing tired of questions, her muscles aching for something else as the excess adrenaline hummed in her veins. She paused, looking him over. They’d both sustained minor wounds, nothing too serious that minor bandaging hadn’t helped them with, but it’d left him stripped to the torso, and she couldn’t help but rove her eyes over the litany of scars that scored his skin. 

What the fuck did she have to lose? 

“You should get over here and kiss me.” It wasn’t a question, per se, but the look on his face at her suggestion was _so_ worth it. 

“Excuse me?” The tips of his ears burned red, and she reclined on her arms to look at him. 

“I said you should kiss me. If you’ve ever done it before. I dunno what you First Order goons get up to, but kissing passes the time.” 

She watched his jaw clench. Was he jealous? “And you know this how?” 

She smirked. “That would be telling, and it’s still my turn.” 

He didn’t say anything for a minute. Two. She counted her breaths in between their silence, her eyes fixed to him, not wanting to stare but not able to help herself. He crawled on hands and knees towards her by the time she hit her one-hundred and tenth breath, and his lips were soft against hers, his helm having long since been discarded. She sighed against him, her body molding against his as he pressed his to hers. The heat of him made her shiver, and she bit down on his bottom lip to drag it between her teeth. He groaned, and pulled away, panting hard. 

“My turn,” he growled, and she felt a thrill race up her spine. _Good_. 


	53. Reylo College/Dorm Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by highsmith on my tumblr

The knocking on his door was _really_ getting annoying, and no matter how loud he turned his music up whoever was on the other side was super fucking persistent. He growled. Getting to his feet and marking his place in his textbook, he ripped the earbuds out and opened the door with a snarl twisting his lips. 

The words “ _what_?” died on his tongue as he stared down at the woman wrapped in a towel just in front of his door. Her cheeks were red but her eyes were fierce. 

“Took you long enough,” she growled as she pushed past him, and he watched her go without so much as another word. 

Wait. What? What the fuck was happening? “Can I help you?” he spluttered, watching as she stepped towards his bedroom and trying not to think about the fact that there was a naked woman with a thin scrap of fabric in his _room_ without any sort of warning. Wow. Was he high? Were the fumes from his upstairs neighbors smoking habits finally hitting him? 

“I need a shirt, and a pair of sweats. Ideally. Boxers will do too so long as you don’t like tighty-whiteys.” He heard the scraping noise of his dresser being opened and when he stepped into his room he saw her shifting through his things, deciding on a Black Sabbath shirt and a pair of his boxers. 

The image of her wearing them, of her putting them on with nothing else underneath, was making his brain go foggy. “Uh, look. I’m confused–.” 

“My roommates left, I don’t have a key to my room because they weren’t supposed to have left, and no one else apparently is home. I know you are ‘cause you’re a recluse who doesn’t like go have any fun, so I figured you’d have at least something decent to wear.” She looked back at him over her shoulder, brown hair in thick waves around her face, dripping water onto his floor. 

His mouth went dry. Right. “Okay. I guess. I’ll, ah, yeah. Just don’t leave too much of a mess without cleaning it up.” He swallowed thickly. “Want some beer?” 

“Love some.” Her smile was sharp as her tongue, and he felt a thrill race through him. 


	54. Reylo Stranded at the Airport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon

He couldn’t stop staring at the tendril of hair that kept shifting across her face as her head rolled back, her eyes closed. She looked so much more peaceful than she had in the past couple hours, her forehead relaxed when she wasn’t staring intently at the novel now discarded beside her. The frilly bookmark made him wonder just who’d gifted it to her, whether she had an overbearing mother like he did, or an aunt who didn’t know her all that well, because the woman who he’d been sitting next to for the past two hours was _not_ the frilly sort of person. 

The prolific curse words when she’d heard about their three hour delay had been more than enough to prove that. 

But now she was silent, at peace, her chest rising and falling peacefully, and he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to fall asleep next to her, to wake up next to this every day. 

Where in the hell _that_ had come from was a mystery, but the idea helped to pass the time away, and when she finally came to with a jerk he offered her a warm smile. 

“Hey. Good nap?” 


	55. Reylo Nude Modeling Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested! Super short drabble

When Rey had signed up for an art class she _really_ should’ve thought the whole “live models” portion through, particularly the nude modeling variety. As it was, she was staring more at the intricate design of his face, the curve of his full, red lips, and the slight definition of his abs as his lithe body stretched back, rather than sketching it was she was supposed to. She hadn’t even looked past the thatch of curls at his groin, her face growing red as she imagined she wouldn’t be able to stop staring, and so instead focused on his eyes. How expressive they were, how they kept meeting hers and holding her gaze, accusing her of staring at him rather than drawing him. 

It should’ve made her feel embarrassed, should’ve made her get back to work. 

Instead, she waited until after class to go up and ask for his number.


	56. Reylo Meeting at a Dog Park AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested on my tumblr

“No–Chewie, _CHEWIE GOD DAMMIT GET BACK HERE!”_

Too late. The enormous brown was already running, its collar having slipped off its thick neck as it bolted away. It was all Ben could do to chase after him, thanking God for his long legs as he sprinted past the others at the dog park and instead homed in on the small, orange corgi what felt like forever away. The dog was yipping, tugging excitedly at its collar as the pup pranced and danced around, trying to get closer, pulling the woman on the other end. 

“Bebe, calm down,” the woman on the other end of the leash was saying, just loud enough that Ben could hear her over the rush of his heart in his ears. He watched as his enormous dog crouched down, barking excitedly, as the small pup tried to tackle Chewie. 

Seriously? 

“Sorry,” he gasped, stooping over to slide the collar over Chewie’s face and tightening it before looking up into the warm, bemused eyes of the corgi’s owner. What little breath he had was quickly knocked from his lungs as he stared up at her, and struggled to remember what words felt like on his tongue. 

She was smiling so bright the sun looked like a nightlight. “Not a problem. It’s good to see Chewie again. I’m surprised he remembers Bebe.” 

She knew his dog? “Oh. You–.” 

“I’m friends of Han’s. Rey.” She stuck a hand out, and he was amazed to see how easily his hand dwarfed hers. 

“Ben. Solo. Han’s son.” 

Her smile turned knowing, and she let Bebe off his leash, watching as the small dog struggled to pounce and knock over Chewie, who stood at least a good couple feet over the little orange and white ball of fur and but let himself be taken down anyway, helpless to stop it from happening. 

Ben was pretty sure he could relate.


	57. Reylo Pretend Married/Sharing a Bed Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mnemehoshiko on my tumblr

“You keep on your side of the bed,” Rey hissed through her teeth, pulling the blankets around her to try and form some sort of cocoon. As if she’d be able to ignore the fact that he was _right there_ , that she could probably feel his breath on her back if she turned over just enough. That she could still feel the heat of his body spreading across the blankets and easing into her bones. 

“I am. It’s a very small bed.” 

Yeah, no kidding. The Full bed had to have been some kind of a joke when they’d heard that Rey and Kylo Ren were being sent together on a mission together. A mission that involved them pretending to be married, to laugh at one another’s shitty jokes or attend bi-weekly meetings at the country club they were infiltrating. Seriously, they belonged to a country club, and all they supposedly could afford was this small of a bed? 

She tried to shift further away but found herself on the very edge, her teeth gritting together as she looked back at him. 

“You sure?”

“Look. Why don’t you just let me spoon you–.” 

“Excuse you.” She at up on her elbows and glared at him. “If anyone’s going to be the big spoon it’s going to be me. Your height be damned.” 

Even in the dark he seemed to realize that her face was brokering no alternative, and the pause between them was pregnant with tension. Finally, he shifted, laying on the side away from her. 

“Fine. If you insist.” 

Great. Now, if she backed down, she’d look like a coward. Grudgingly, she shifted closer and wrapped one arm around his waist, pressing her face between his shoulder blades and wondering what it would be like to kiss her way down the expanse of skin there, to trace feather light touches down his spine before sinking her teeth into his neck. 

Ugh. She needed to sleep. Her brain was going haywire without it. 


	58. Reylo Quidditch Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon on my tumblr

“Rey!” Kylo snarled as he made his way through the locker rooms to where the Ravenclaw captain ought to be, his broom and gear already chucked on the floor of the Slytherin ones. He was aching from where a bludger had grazed against his leg, and it gave him a slight limp as he came at her from behind. She turned to stare at him, and her gaze turned bemused. 

“You’re a shit loser, Ren.” 

“That last goal was _shit_ and you know it–you shouldn’t have won.” 

“Doesn’t matter. We did. They counted it.” 

He laid his fist into the locker just beside her, but she didn’t even jump. Who was he kidding? This was nothing new; she’d been kicking his ass from Hogwarts to the Highlands for years now, and this, their final year facing off against one another, he’d thought he’d at least have a shot against her. 

How foolish could he be? 

“Oh c’mon, Kylo.” She reached up to cup the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “If you stop throwing such a fit you can join me in the showers? Or you can stay here and throw a fit.” She pulled away and shimmied out of her shirt, her black bra stark against her tanned skin, his eyes following the smattering of freckles that trailed down her chest. 

 _Shit_. She had herself a deal. All thoughts of the game disappeared as he stared at her, and his brain went utterly blank as she turned to head towards the showers. He trailed her just seconds later. 


	59. Reylo Avengers!AU Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE COMBINATION OF MY TWO FAVORITE THINGS!   
> Requested by Anon on Tumblr

When all else failed, Rey couldn’t. There was too much riding on this, Finn’s safety and sanity was riding on this, the fucking _free world_ was riding on this, and though it may have weighed heavily on the minds of everyone else, she couldn’t let her think of it. Not now. 

They had the invader isolated in a cell, the black leather of his outfit reflecting the harsh, florescent lighting of the glass cage they’d put him in. He didn’t even turn when she arrived, her footsteps silent as she padded towards him, only to hear him laugh quietly when he finally caught wind of her. Likely a reflection in the glass opposite her. 

“There’s not many people who can sneak up on me.” 

The low timbre of his voice might’ve done things to her had it been any other day, any other situation, but he’d fucked with her best friend. The only way he was coming back from that was on his hands and knees, begging for forgiveness to both she and Finn. 

“But you’d figured that I would. Why is that?” 

She didn’t need to ask, didn’t need to hear him acknowledge what she’d already felt in her bones the minute she’d taken him into custody, after his stupid publicity stunt in Stutgartt. There’d been a strange pull in her chest that she couldn’t hope to ignore, couldn’t stop thinking about it and what she could do to use it to her advantage. 

What he could do to twist it to his. 

All the more reason for her to use it first. She tried to center itself, keeping her eyes open to stare at the way his full lips twisted in a grin that ought to have terrified her. She tried to pull on that same bond, and watched as his body jerked forward the smallest of fractions. Curious. 

“Reasons such as that. You and I are connected. You couldn’t resist.” He stepped closer, and she wished not for the first time that for once they could have a villain that was somewhat _close_ to her height, because this whole being looked down on thing was beyond irritating. “You want to know what it is that binds us together. Just as I do.” 

“So what, your stealing my best friend, and proclaiming to want to rule the world, was a cry for attention?” It wouldn’t have surprised her. 

“It got the message across, didn’t it?” He was grinning, and his dark eyes sent shivers up her spine. 

Carefully she weighed her options, standing stock still the whole time though, in truth, she wanted to run. She wanted to get far, far away from him, to run from his radar, and disappear in one of the false names she’d made for herself. 

She dug her heels in instead. “Tell me what you did to Agent Finn.” 


	60. Reylo Florist Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon on Tumblr

He came in every month at the same time, halfway through the afternoon of the fifteenth, or the sixteenth if the former fell on a Sunday, to order a dozen roses to be sent to a woman called Leia Organa. At first, Rey couldn’t help but wonder just what the hell his girlfriend did to make him so loyal, to inspire such adoration that he had to spend twenty bucks a month in order to appease her. When the woman came in, pulling up a pair of sunglasses to balance them atop her head, and fixed Rey with a knowing smile, the thought of her having been Ben Solo’s girlfriend flew out the window. 

“Are you Rey?” Leia asked, Rey having seen her name when it’d rang up on the screen after her purchase of a water. Not a flower person, clearly, given the way she was sniffling. 

“Uh, yes,” Rey offered her a smile, wanting to cover up her name tag, wondering how it was that this mystery woman was looking for her without Rey having ever met her before in her life. “How can I help you?” 

Leia’s smile was apologetic at first, though there was a hint of humor in her eyes. A strange, odd combination, Rey thought, but who was she to judge? “This is going to sound incredibly unorthodox, but, the next time my son  Ben Solo comes in, please ask him out?” 

Uhh, what? 

Before she could respond Leia had pressed on, her words coming fast now. “He keeps buying me flowers to give him a reason to come to see you. He likes to try and hide it, but I know my son. And I’m sorry,if you have no interest in him, but if you do–he’s too shy to ask you.” 

Yeah. She was pretty sure they’d said a dozen words to one another aside from business transactions, and her cheeks burned at the thought. “Uh. How do you know he–.” 

“I just do. Trust me. I’m allergic to pollen; he wouldn’t have done this unless he was looking to impress someone, and you’re by far the prettiest girl here.” 

Right. She’d take that as a compliment, she supposed, and thanked Leia for her suggestion, watching her go with a smile. What the _fuck_  had that been about? 

The next time Ben came in, though, she scribbled her number and a smiley face on the back of his receipt, wondering whether he’d take the hint, or if Leia would have a couple more months to suffer before Rey got it through his head that she meant it. 


	61. Reylo Lifeguard Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon on Tumblr

“You’re a terrible influence,” Rey growled as she stalked back towards him. “He almost _died_ because you distracted me.” 

Kylo grinned as he crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her as she stepped towards him, her every step speaking to how infuriated she was. All he could think was how adorable she looked when she wanted to kill him. “You enjoyed it. C’mon, he’s fine!” 

“That kid could’ve died because you pulled me away for a make out session!”

“I would’ve died if you didn’t kiss me! I was drowning for it!” 

Cheesy, yes. But his words were effective. She snarled, too flustered to do much else than to lay her fist into his shoulder. “Ass. Next time keep your boner to yourself. Got it?”

He pouted. “So … a quickie is out of the question?”

Her next slug landed in his gut and he learned all too quickly just how _painful_ being out of breath really was. 


	62. Reylo Ever After-esque Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by cosette-giry on my tumblr

They were effectively surrounded, and with her in nothing but her undergarments, and Kylo at her side with a single blade, there wasn’t much they could do against the band of men who’d come up out of the shadows of the forest. She gritted her teeth as one of them stepped forward, an easy smile on his lips, as he took in just who the man was. 

“Look who we have here, boys. Pretty Prince Organa-Solo. He’ll make for a fine ransom.” 

Kylo stiffened at Rey’s side, and she found his hand in her own. “Sir,” she said quickly. “We’re not looking to cause any problems. Please, just let us walk away.” 

The man, a tall, bearded gentleman with a bemused look on his face, gave her a quick up and down. While any other man might’ve taken advantage of her state of undress, this one only seemed to be sizing her up. “You have nice manners, my lady. I’ll make you a bargain.” 

Her eyebrows rose, while Kylo hissed “ _don’t”_ just beside her. 

“Alright.” Too late now. 

“I will allow you to leave with anything that you can carry. Anything, I give you my word.” He mocked her with a bow, but Rey’s mind was already working, twisting his words until she curtseyed back with just as much levity as his bow had contained. Then, without pausing for longer than a beat, she walked towards where Kylo stood stiff as marble, and murmured for him to relax. 

She had him draped across her shoulders moments later, and _hell_ was he heavy! Did he line his pockets with stones or something? 

She’d only made it a few paces away when the man who’d offered her the deal, through a fit of laughter, had promised that she could have her things back. Good news, too, because her back was about to go out if she’d had to carry him for much longer. 


	63. Sif/Steve/Natasha Fitness Instructor Prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: AU fic: Steve and Sif both go to self defence classes at Natasha's gym, and each of them has a crush on their instructor. They are extremely competitive and trying to impress Natasha, right until she tells them she doesn't mind sharing.
> 
> Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!

He’d seen Sif once a week for the last month and a half, but the two had really only gotten to talking when he’d caught sight of her watching their instructor with a little more intensity, a little more interest, than an invested participant in the self defense classes offered at SHIELD gym. Not that he could blame the dark haired woman in the slightest when Steve was doing the same, unable to keep himself from staring as Nat would lead them through stretches, demonstrating basic to intermediate offensive and defensive measures. She’d pull Clint Barton, her aid for the class, up to have him wrap his arms around her to show how to break out of various holds, and Steve had found himself more than once wondering just how it would feel to hold her in his arms. 

Judging by the heat in Sif’s gaze, he wasn’t alone, and he’d come to stand next to her and practice with her after he caught her biting her bottom lip when Nat demonstrated a particularly impressive throw. 

“So, you’ve got it bad for her too, huh?” Steve said without preface, an understanding, sympathetic smile on his face as her own eyes widened, then narrowed. 

“Yeah,” she admitted once she decided that he wasn’t trying to tease her, that he was genuinely stating a fact shared between them. “I’m a cop--I’ve known all of these moves for at least a couple years, but I took a kickboxing class with her before and when she said she was going to be teaching this. Well.” She held her hands out at her side, little else to say when the proof of the situation was right there, and Steve’s smile softened. 

“Wow. Well, take it easy on me, yeah?” he asked with a smile as he came to stand behind her, allowing her to throw him around the room with such ease it was a wonder she didn’t just ask to co-teach it with Nat. 

Sif rolled her eyes at that, smirking after the last throw down and extending her hand for him to take. “Bet I can get her attention before you can.” 

“You’re on.” 

 

Sif was about as blatant as could be, going up to speak with Natasha at the end of the class, her face bright red but her eyes bright and alive as she spoke. Steve could hear her complimenting Nat on her perfect take down, asking just where it was that Nat had learned how to defend herself so well that she was teaching a course on it. Steve’s cheeks burned as he struggled to overhear over the chatter of the other finished participants, Nat’s voice low enough to be sultry even in normal conversation but could be damn difficult to pick up on when she wasn’t trying to be overheard. He chanced a glance at the pair of them watching how Natasha opened up her body to Sif, her pose comfortable, full lips spread in a wide smile. Sif reached out a hand to touch Nat’s shoulder, and Natasha accepted it. Even stood a little closer because of it. 

Well fuck all if Steve was going to let this go without some sort of competition. 

He straightened and headed towards the pair of them, unafraid to slightly edge out Sif as Nat’s gaze fell on him and he grinned. Sif was going to go the obvious route of talking to her? Fine. He’d step it up a notch. 

“Hey, sorry to interrupt but I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink after this.” He said, ignoring the way that his stomach clenched, or how Sif elbowed him subtly enough in the ribs that it looked like an accident but hurt like a bitch. “I couldn’t help overhearing that you’ve been in the area for some time, and I’m brand new. You wouldn’t mind showing me around, would you?”

It was the most forward thing he’d done in a long time, and though he’d expected Natasha to look surprised her gaze was . . . bemused. At best. 

“Yeah? Your accent kinda sounds New Yorker-y.” 

“My ma was from here,” he said simply. “Guess I just picked up on it.” 

“Right. Sure.” Nat shrugged, and was it just Steve, or did she look over at Sif, as though to prompt her for something else? The dark haired woman picked up on it, sure enough, and her foot came to step on Steve’s as she moved a little closer to Nat. “Want company? I know of a great place down the street. Rouge, ever been there?” 

Now Nat was grinning, and Steve had an inkling why. He’d been to the gay bar once with a couple of his friends, though he didn’t partake himself but had gone for solidarity instead. Really, Sif? Really? 

“I don’t think that’s the type of bar he had in mind,” Nat admonished, biting back a smile as she looked between the two of them. “And I don’t think you two ought to try so hard to compete against one another. You could just both ask me out at the same time, and we could call it a date?”

Sif opened her mouth but said nothing, while Steve felt his cheeks heat up. Wait. “Are you serious?” 

Nat’s eyes skimmed the emptying room before giving a small shrug. “Yeah. Sure. I don’t see why not. I’m not opposed to sharing.”

  
  



End file.
